UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 
Donated  in  memory  of 

John  W.    Snvder 


His  Son  and  Daughter 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


ANCHORS  AWEIGH 


Puffing  ...  the  tugs  warped  the  ship  from  the  pier  .  .  .  thoved  her 
tideways  .  .  .  and  moved  ahead  .  .  .  down-stream. 


ANCHORS  AWEIGH 


BY 

HARRIET  WELLES 


WITH   AN   INTRODUCTION    BY 

HON.   JOSEPHUS    DANIELS 

SECRETARY   OF  THE   NAVY 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1919 


CorruoR.  1017.  1918.  1019.  n 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Febnuy,  1010 


TO 

ROGER 


INTRODUCTION 

"THAT  isn't  merely  a  story  of  the  Navy: 
it  is  a  classic." 

With  these  words  to  one  very  dear  I  laid 
down  the  magazine  from  which  I  had  read 
aloud  Harriet  Welles's  story  of  "The  Ad- 
miral's Birthday."  It  was  the  kind  of  in- 
timate touch  of  the  love  of  husband  and  wife 
that  makes  one  "teary  around  the  lashes," 
as  Lowell  would  say.  That  was  my  first  in- 
troduction to  the  stories  of  this  interpreter 
of  the  phase  of  Navy  life  that  makes  Navy 
people  one  big  family.  It  is  a  life  of  separa- 
tions and  many  honeymoons,  for  "Orders" 
take  the  male  partners  to  all  corners  of  the 
globe.  The  wife  must  wait  at  home  while 
the  husband  braves  the  danger  of  the  deep, 
and  latterly  the  terrors  of  the  submarine 
stiletto.  She  may  not — so  deeply  do  both 
Navy  tradition  and  Navy  superstition  domi- 
nate all  in  the  service — stand  on  the  shore  and 

vii 


viii  Introduction 

wave  "good-by"  to  her  sailor  as  his  ship  sails 
away.  "It  is  bad  luck,"  all  sailor  wives  will 
tell  you,  to  "watch  your  husband's  ship  as  it 
sets  sail."  So  the  "good-by"  must  be  said 
in  some  inn  or  hotel  in  the  port  if  it  happens 
she  can  accompany  him  to  the  place  of  em- 
barkation. Or  she  remains  at  home  with  the 
bairns,  and  gives  him  a  brave  farewell  while 
the  yearning  for  his  home-staying  tugs  at 
her  heart.  For  these  arc  valorous  sailor 
wives.  She  must  not  let  her  man  go  to  sea 
without  the  smile  of  victory  over  her  longing 
to  keep  him  close  by  the  fireside. 

Mrs.  Welles  has  given  us  the  true  in- 
terpretation of  the  home  a  Navy  woman 
makes  when,  with  the  partner  gone,  she 
is  waiting  for  his  ship  to  come  back.  She 
makes  you  actually  feel,  gives  you  thrill  of 
the  reunited  hearts  when  "Jack  comes  home 
again."  There  are  more  honeymoons  in  the 
Navy  than  in  any  other  service,  for  the  end 
of  every  tour  of  sea  duty  is  another  new 
mating  of  heart  with  heart.  The  pang  of 
the  parting !  Is  it  compensated  for  by  the 
joy  of  the  return  ? 

"The  Admiral's  Birthday"  gave  me  such 


Introduction  ix 

pleasure  that  all  her  other  stories  have  been 
eagerly  read.  The  latest,  "Orders,"  has  the 
pathos  and  the  tragedy  of  the  great  war  which 
still  casts  its  sombre  shadow  over  us.  The 
gifted  writer  has  imparted  something  of  the 
feeling  of  sympathy  all  of  us  had  felt  in  the 
Navy  Department  as  the  brave  naval  officer 
walked  in  the  shadow  while  his  wife,  equally 
brave,  "crossed  over  the  river."  They  were 
in  the  Service,  and  Duty  was  the  supreme 
command.  The  devoted  wife  was  buoyed  up 
for  the  moment  by  her  pride  in  her  husband's 
great  enterprise.  Who  can  even  faintly  un- 
derstand how  great  the  sacrifice  and  how 
noble  the  courage  when  she  bade  him  go  with 
his  great  guns  to  make  a  new  glory  for  the 
Navy !  Such  renunciation  must  have  been 
pleasing  to  the  All  Good  as  he  looked  down  and 
saw  the  bravery  of  her  spirit  rising  superior 
to  her  weakness  of  body.  And  the  captain 
— the  heroic  spirit — restless  and  ambitious  to 
do  the  great  things  of  which  he  had  dreamed 
and  planned.  Was  it  possible  to  make  naval 
ordnance  a  decisive  force  in  land  warfare  ? 
That  had  been  debated.  He  had  argued,  and 
he  had  won.  It  was  given  to  me  to  sign  his 


x  Introduction 

"Orders."  War  is  imperative — he  must  go 
at  once  or  the  opportunity  would  pass  and 
victory  be  delayed.  Must  he  renounce  the 
call  of  duty  and  opportunity  to  remain  by 
the  side  of  her  who  was  dearer  to  him  than 
life  ?  The  doctors  told  him  the  malady  was 
incurable,  and  he  could  not  help  her,  but  that 
did  not  make  the  going  a  lesser  agony. 
Should  he  go  ?  That  was  the  path  of  duty 
to  service  and  to  country.  Should  he  stay  ? 
That  was  the  heart's  desire  and  the  man's 
intense  longing.  Which  was  the  bravest: 
the  stricken  wife,  who  talked  of  future  honey- 
moon trips  while  she  sent  him  away  knowing 
they  would  never  look  into  each  other's  eyes 
in  life,  or  the  husband,  clutching  at  his 
throat  and  staggering  through  the  night  as 
he  shut  out  the  light  of  her  eyes  to  hasten  to 
danger  and  duty  ?  If  "The  Admiral's  Birth- 
day" was  a  classic,  "Orders"  is  an  epic,  and 
the  other  stories  have  a  glow  and  tender  pathos 
which  have  permitted  other  than  Navy  eyes 
to  look  upon  the  lights  and  shadows  of  a  ser- 
vice which  has  lately  come  into  new  apprecia- 
tion by  the  American  people.  It  is  only  a 
glimpse,  but  let  us  hope  Mrs.  Welles  will  give 


Introduction  xi 

us  other  pen  pictures  of  those  conquerors  of 
the  sea  whose  love  is  as  tender  as  their  pro- 
fession is  rigorous.  It  might  truly  be  said 
of  the  men  Mrs.  Welles  depicts: 

"The  bravest  are  the  tenderest 
The  loving  are  the  daring." 

JOSEPHUS  DANIELS. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


I.    IN  THE  DAY'S  WORK i 

II.    THE  ADMIRAL'S  BIRTHDAY 33 

III.  BETWEEN  THE  TREATY  PORTS 47 

IV.  ORDERS 79 

V.    ANCHORS  AWEIGH 98 

VI.    DUTY  FIRST 105 

VII.    THE  ADMIRAL'S  HOLLYHOCKS 128 

VIII.    THE  DAY 165 

IX.    HOLDING  MAST 186 

X.    THE  WALL 197 

XL    GUAM — AND  EFFIE 214 

XII.    FLAGS 251 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Puffing  .  .  .  the  tugs  warped  the  ship  from  the  pier  .  .  . 
shoved  her  sideways  . . .  and  moved  ahead  . . .  down- 
stream   Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

Even  as  they  turned,  the  ship,  with  a  sharp  upward 
swing  of  her  stern,  lifted  it  high  in  the  air — then 
plunged  down  through  the  icy  water 30 

The  air  was  full  of  their  volubly  reiterated  good  wishes      44 

"She  sat  at  one  end  of  that — a  revolver  in  reach  of  each 

hand!    When  any  one  tried  to  cheat  or  argue — 1"      68 

Far  away  ...  in  a  hospital  waiting-room  his  wife  was 

sitting .' 118 

"'Pirate  never  so  bad  before  on  Yangtze!     Catch-ee 

junk,  kill-ee  crew,  steal-ee  cargo!'  " 134 

"Mark  Simmons.  Reported  by  the  officer  of  the  deck 
for  overstaying  liberty  eight  hours,"  read  the  yeo- 
man   188 

"It'll  be  lonely  for  you,  especially  as  Hugh  finds  it  con- 
venient to  be  away  so  much" 236 


ANCHORS   AWEIGH 


IN  THE  DAY'S  WORK 

THE  old  petty  officer  in  charge  of  the  drills 
drew  a  deep  breath  and  looked  down  the 
long  lines  of  newly  enlisted  apprentice  sea- 
men. A  few  of  the  boys  were  from  the  poorer 
quarters  of  near-by  cities  and  towns;  some 
were  from  the  farming  districts;  but  the 
greater  number  were  undergraduates  from 
colleges  and  universities  flocking  to  the  colors 
at  the  first  intimation  of  their  country's  need, 
and  all  were  astonishingly  transformed,  by 
the  mere  donning  of  uniforms  and  caps,  into 
potential  sailors  for  the  ships  of  the  United 
States  navy. 

The  petty  officer  cleared  his  throat.  Some- 
how the  sunshiny  parade-ground,  bordered 
by  cheerful,  yellow-brick  barracks  and  backed 
by  the  sparkling  blue  of  Narragansett  Bay 
and  the  distant,  pointed  spires  of  Newport 


2  In  the  Day's  Work 

churches,  seemed  too  incongruously  peaceful 
compared  with  the  things  of  which  he  was 
trying  to  speak.  He  cleared  his  throat  again. 

"I'd  like  to  remind  you,  lads,"  he  said, 
"that  there  are  some  things  in  our  navy  that 
you'll  have  to  learn  for  yourselves.  We  can 
teach  you  the  manual  of  arms  and  the  drills; 
and  there  are  schools  here  to  train  you  for 
any  branch  of  ship's  work  that  you  have  a 
leaning  toward — wireless,  electricity,  signal 
corps,  hospital  corps,  engineering,  cooking, 
and  yeoman's  work — but  what  you've  got 
to  get,  if  you're  to  be  of  any  real  use,  is  the 
spirit  of  the  navy ! 

"Maybe  there's  those  with  education 
enough  to  explain  that  spirit  to  you.  I 
haven't  got  the  words.  I  only  know  what 
it  means  in  actions.  Summed  up,  it  amounts 
to  about  this:  aboard  ship  there  ain't  no 
you  and  there  ain't  no  me;  there's  just  Us ! 
And  we're  working  together  under  the  flag 
of  the  finest  country  on  earth. 

"You  lads  have  come  away  from  your 
folks,  and  your  homes,  and  your  colleges  to 
help  get  a  bad  job  done;  and  when  the  job's 
finished  some  of  you  will  go  back  to  your 


In  the  Day's  Work  3 

colleges,  and  your  folks,  and  your  homes — 
and  some  won't. 

"But  if  the  ones  that  go  back  have  gotten 
the  real  spirit  of  the  navy — the  spirit  that 
was  already  strong  when  boys  like  you  were 
rampaging  over  the  seas  on  the  old  wooden 
ship  Constellation  that's  tied  up  to  the  wharf 
here — they'll  go  back,  and  carry  with  them 
through  the  remainder  of  their  lives  the 
knowledge  that  in  time  of  squalls  their  hand 
was  steady  in  the  service  of  the  rest  of  the 
ship;  that  they  helped,  to  the  end,  the  mess- 
mate who  had  fallen;  and  that  when  it 
seemed  like  it  was  their  turn  next  they  looked 
death  straight  in  the  eye.  That's  what  we 
call  the  Spirit  of  the  Navy.  Don't  forget 
it! 

"Now!  Atten-shun!  I'll  explain  the  an- 
chor-watch to  you." 

The  ship's  doctor  dropped  stiffly  into  his 
seat  at  the  ward-room  luncheon-table  and 
whimsically  surveyed  his  brother  officers. 
Perhaps  he  had  grown  accustomed  to  the 
white  look  of  fatigue  and  tension  that  dis- 
tinguishes the  expression  of  the  naval  officers 


4  In  the  Day's  Work 

who,  for  months  now,  have  faced  death  on 
destroyers  and  transports  on  the  North  Sea; 
perhaps  his  New  England  training  came  back 
to  him  in  half-remembered  sayings  about 
enduring  what  can't  be  remedied,  and  the 
hopeful  suggestions  of  turns  in  seemingly 
interminable  roads.  At  any  rate  he  ignored 
the  obvious  and  soared,  conversationally, 
into  the  cheerfully  problematical. 

"I've  been  wondering  all  morning  if  I 
hadn't  better  try  out  an  unpatented  invention 
of  a  Buddhist  priest  I  saw  in  Japan,"  ob- 
served the  doctor,  helping  himself  to  tinned 
sardines  and  damp  crackers.  "The  old  fel- 
low was  sweeping  off  the  immaculate  white 
straw  mats  of  a  Kyoto  temple,  and  as  he 
frisked  over  to  collect  an  entrance  fee  of  me 
I  noticed  that  both  sides  of  his  nose  were 
securely  plugged  with  wads  of  rice-paper. 

"'How  come?'  I  questioned,  pointing  at 
them. 

"He  waited  devoutly  while  some  wor- 
shippers eased  down  on  their  fine  work  with 
the  prayer-gong  before  he  answered,  'Cold 
on  the  head,  have  got!'  and  intimated  that 
much  valuable  time  might  be  lost  if  he  had 


In  the  Day's  Work  5 

to  stop  every  time  he  needed  to  blow  his  nose; 
and,  besides,  as  he  indulgently  informed  me, 
he  hadn't  ever  owned  a  handkerchief.  I've 
been  thinking  of  trying  his  scheme  out  on 
the  crew  of  this  ship. 

"They've  every  variety  of  cough  and  whoop, 
from  the  copy  of  a  lyric  cry  to  a  replica 
of  the  Gregorian  chant.  I'll  always  remember 
this  cruise  by  the  opportunities  I've  had  to 
study  snuffles." 

The  mess  listened  with  a  visible  easing 
of  tension.  "If  the  old  fellow's  cold  was 
really  bad  I  should  think  his  procedure  would, 
in  time,  have  made  his  brain  come  adrift. 
How  did  he  breathe?"  questioned  the  exec- 
utive officer. 

"Oh,  he  just  let  his  mouth  hang  jauntily 
open.  A  nose  isn't  really  a  necessity  any 
more  than  an  appendix  is;  it's  an  ornament," 
said  the  doctor,  cheerfully  surveying  the 
mess.  "Of  course  I  don't  mean  that  all 
noses  are  ornamental,"  he  added,  and  dodged 
a  cracker  thrown  by  the  navigator. 

"Too  bad  you  fellows  can't  get  a  glimpse 
of  your  great-great-great-grandchildren  when 
the  manufacturers  of  food  substitutes,  pre- 


6  In  the  Day's  Work 

servatives,  and  adulterations,  and  we  sur- 
geons have,  by  our  combined  and  unceasing 
efforts,  permanently  divorced  them  from  their 
unnecessary  decorations.  No  teeth  !  No  hair ! 
No  tonsils !  No  appendixes !  No  gall-blad- 
ders !  No — but  I'll  spare  you.  It'll  be  a  neat 
and  trim  population  in  those  happy  days," 
said  the  doctor  with  dramatic  airiness. 

"My  great-great-grandchildren!"  observed 
the  engineer  officer,  and  glanced  through  the 
rain-streaked  port-hole  past  which  gray,  foam- 
crested  waves  raced  before  the  icy  wind, 
under  a  heavy  sky. 

A  little  silence  fell  upon  the  mess;  they 
all  knew  that  the  engineer  officer's  first-born 
had  arrived  in  this  warring  world  a  month 
after  its  father  had  joined  the  ship,  and  ex- 
cept for  photographs  he  had  never  seen  it. 
His  wife  wrote  of  the  baby's  superlative  beauty 
and  charm  and  planned  for  the  happy  days 
of  reunion,  but  somehow  a  shadowy  forebod- 
ing that  crouched  behind  her  cheering  words 
had  eluded  her  and  crept  into  the  envelope 
to  loom  large  when  the  letter  was  opened. 
The  engineer  officer  broke  the  silence  with 
hasty  querulousness. 


In  the  Day's  Work  7 

"Be  thankful  there's  nothing  worse  than 
colds  the  matter  with  the  crew,"  he  ad- 
monished, and  set  his  teeth  under  a  swift 
stab  of  pain;  for  several  days  these  attacks 
had  come  with  increasing  frequency  and 
violence.  "This  is  no  time  to  get  sick,"  his 
spirit  asserted  with  grim  anger  at  the  inop- 
portune besieger. 

"  What  about  my  keeping  in  practice  ? " 
asked  the  doctor,  and  added:  "These  are 
queer  days  in  the  navy !  I  was  talking  with 
one  of  the  petty  officers  who  drilled  the  ap- 
prentice seamen  at  the  training-station  last 
summer,  and  the  old  fellow  was  upset!  He 
had  a  big  lot  of  boys  fresh  from  different 
colleges  to  train,  and  they  overturned  all  his 
previous  experiences.  He  went  carefully  over 
the  manual  of  arms  with  them  the  first  day, 
and  the  next  morning,  to  his  amazed  astonish- 
ment, they  executed  each  order  with  unvary- 
ing precision. 

'You  know  these  exercises  already?'  he 
questioned  bewilderedly. 

'Why,  yes/  answered  one  of  the  boys; 
'you  told  them  to  us  yesterday.' 

"You    see,    the    new    apprentice    seamen 


8  In  the  Day's  Work 

represented  the  college-trained  product,  to 
whom  concentration  is  a  necessity.  The 
petty  officer's  experience  had  been  with  boys 
of  less  education,  who  learn  by  the  frequent 
repetition  of  drilling,  and  drilling,  and  drilling 
— the  mechanical  action  of  untrained  minds," 
explained  the  doctor. 

"I  should  think  that  with  such  new  ma- 
terial we  could  build  up  a  magnificent 
personnel,"  exclaimed  the  executive  enthu- 
siastically. 

The  doctor  smiled.  "You  haven't  been 
reading  your  little  book  of  fables  lately,  or 
you'd  remember  that  everything  has  its  dis- 
advantages," he  admonished,  and  added: 
"The  old  classes  of  apprentice  seamen  hadn't 
trained  minds,  but  most  of  them  had  learned 
the  ground-plan  rules  of  discipline — poverty 
generally  inculcates  that.  The  new  boys 
don't  know  the  meaning  of  the  word !  As 
far  as  they're  concerned,  it's  an  incoherent 
assortment  of  syllables  made  up  from  unin- 
telligible letters. 

"One  indignant  youth  returned  to  the 
training-station  to  find  that  the  ship  he  was 
assigned  to  had  sailed.  *I  like  their  nerve — 


In  the  Day's  Work  9 

going  off  without  me !'  he  asserted  in  loud 
and  righteous  wrath  to  the  petty  officer  en- 
gaged in  warping  him  toward  the  brig.  'I 
sent  them  word  that  my  mother  had  come 
up  to  see  me,  so  they  needn't  expect  me  back 
until  she'd  left — and  they've  gone  without 
waiting  for  me !' 

"Another  lad  had  been  notified  that  he 
was  to  stand  watch  from  four  to  eight,  but 
some  acquaintances  motored  over  from  Nar- 
ragansett,  so  he  sent  a  message  to  the  captain 
that  he  wouldn't  be  able  to  get  back  until 
later,  as  he  was  to  dine  with  friends  at  a 
restaurant  which  he  ingenuously  named. 
Imagine  his  resentful  indignation  when,  just 
after  the  soup  had  been  served,  he  was 
snatched  into  a  standing  position  by  an  un- 
sympathetic master-at-arms.  'I  sent  the 
captain  word,'  he  expostulated.  ' Is  that  so  ? 
What's  a  captain  ?  'Tis  the  admiral  you 
should  have  notified,'  commented  the  master- 
at-arms  witheringly. 

"This  same  boy  is  my  hospital  apprentice 
now,  and  he's  as  keen  as  a  razor.  He  still 
grins  sheepishly  over  his  farewell  dinner- 
party, but  he  has  ideas  of  his  own !  We  have 


io  In  the  Day's  Work 

great  arguments  about  a  surgeon's  privileges 
and  responsibilities — "  The  doctor  broke  off 
and  glanced  about.  "I  don't  eat  more  than 
the  rest  of  you;  I  talk  more,"  he  explained, 
and  turned  his  attention  to  his  luncheon. 

The  engineer  officer  leaned  forward.  "  What 
does  your  hospital  apprentice  think  a  surgeon's 
privileges  are  ?"  he  asked  idly. 

"Oh,  the  right  to  decide  whether  the  future 
holds  enough  for  a  patient  to  make  his  life 
worth  living.  I  tell  him  that  no  one  can  guess 
what  the  future  may  hold,"  laughed  the  doc- 
tor. 

Outside  the  wind  was  rising  and  the  rain, 
like  fine  steel  wires,  whipped  across  the  port- 
holes as  the  ship,  with  undiminished  speed, 
swept  along  on  her  prescribed  course.  "Nasty 
weather,"  commented  the  executive;  then, 
struck  by  something  in  the  engineer  officer's 
face,  asked :  "  What  ails  you  ?  You  look 
green  and  seasick!" 

"Me  seasick!"  ejaculated  the  engineer, 
with  ungrammatical  scorn,  as  he  pushed 
back  his  chair.  "I've  had  a  queer  pain  for 
two  or  three  days.  I  may  be  around  to  see 
you  later  in  the  afternoon,  doc." 


In  the  Day's  Work  n 

The  doctor  nodded  hospitably.  "I'm 
specializing  on  colds  at  present,  but  of 
course — "  He  glanced  keenly  at  the  en- 
gineer officer.  "Better  come  along  with  me 
now,"  he  suggested. 

The  engineer  shook  his  head.  "I've  several 
things  to  attend  to,"  he  said  as  he  hurried 
away. 

"He  never  thinks  of  any  engines — except 
the  ship's,"  complained  the  doctor,  making 
his  way  back  to  his  quarters  and  the  routine 
duties  of  his  afternoon. 

The  doctor's  tiny  office  was  also  his  con- 
sulting and  operating  room,  and,  after  glanc- 
ing about  and  noting  that  everything  was 
in  order  and  the  apprentice  at  his  post,  he 
gave  the  signal  for  a  bugler  to  sound  sick- 
call. 

"That's  a  pretty  call,"  observed  the  ap- 
prentice, as  the  birdlike  crescendo — muffled 
because  of  circumstances — sounded  through 
the  narrow  passages. 

"Sounds  all  right  to  those  who  haven't 
anything  the  matter  with  them,"  growled 
the  doctor,  still  bothered  by  the  engineer 


12  In  the  Day's  Work 

officer's  white  face.  "Here  they  come,"  he 
added,  as  the  distant  chorus  of  coughs  drew 
nearer. 

"This  beats  the  way  doctors  ashore  sit 
around  and  wait  for  patients,"  observed 
the  hospital  apprentice  conversationally; 
"here,  when  you  re  ready,  you  just  have  a 
bugle  blown."  He  stepped  back  and  busied 
himself  with  a  tray  of  instruments  as  the 
doorway  filled  with  a  group  of  sailors. 

The  doctor  glanced  keenly  at  his  patients, 
while  his  capable  hands  moved  swiftly:  there 
were  some  burns  to  dress  and  rebandage, 
a  wrenched  arm  to  ease  by  a  light  sling,  several 
decreasing  colds  to  prescribe  for,  an  injured 
foot  to  examine  and  pronounce  cured,  and 
one  feverish  boy  to  consign  to  the  unblemished 
whiteness  of  the  tiny  sick-bay,  where  he  could 
be  under  observation. 

"We'll  get  into  port  day  after  to-morrow. 
If  he  develops  anything  in  the  meantime  we'll 
be  able  to  transfer  him  then  to  a  hospital 
ashore,"  mused  the  doctor  as  the  last  pa- 
tient filed  out. 

"Seems  impertinent  for  a  disease  to  at- 
tack a  man  when  he's  on  such  duty  as  this," 


13 

observed  the  hospital  apprentice,  steadying 
himself  as  the  ship,  after  climbing  up  the 
long,  steep  hill  of  a  great  wave,  plunged 
sharply  down  into  a  yawning  gulf. 

"Last  year  at  this  time  I  was  fiddling 
around  Cambridge  and  Boston,"  said  the 
apprentice  reflectively,  as  he  closed  the  cover 
of  the  sterilizer,  "and  my  chief  grievance 
was  that  my  mother  would  keep  urging  me 
to  go  and  see  the  Sargent  and  Abbey  paint- 
ings in  the  public  library;  she  wrote  about 
them  so  often  that  it  got  on  my  nerves.  It 
seems  centuries  ago!" 

"Did  it  get  on  your  nerves  enough  to  make 
you  obey  her?"  questioned  the  doctor. 

The  hospital  apprentice  smiled.  "No,"  he 
confessed,  then  added  comfortably:  "I'll  go 
and  see  them  after  the  war  is  over;  there'll 
be  lots  of  time  for  pictures  then." 

"You  think  you'll  have  learned  by  that 
time  to  obey  orders  ? "  asked  the  doctor. 

The  apprentice  laughed.  "  Discipline  is  now 
my  middle  name,"  he  asserted  genially. 

The  doctor,  glancing  about  the  tiny  room, 
noted  the  immaculate  orderliness  of  the  com- 
pact arrangements,  and  thought:  "I  am 


14  In  the  Day's  Work 

lucky  in  getting  that  boy  for  a  hospital  appren- 
tice. Come  in  ! "  he  called,  and  started  forward 
at  sight  of  the  engineer  officer's  drawn  face. 

"Yes?"  questioned  the  doctor. 

The  engineer  could  hardly  achieve  a 
twisted,  rueful  smile.  "I've  had  intermittent 
pain  for  nearly  a  week — but  just  now — some- 
thing— must — have — happened,"  he  gasped, 
and  crumpled  into  a  limp  heap.  The  doctor 
groaned  as  he  felt  the  feverish  hands  and 
wrists.  "Why  couldn't  he  have  given  me 
a  chance  before  it  wore  him  out?"  he  de- 
manded of  the  appalled  apprentice,  as  the 
engineer  officer  opened  his  heavy  eyes. 

There  followed  some  moments  of  minute 
examination  and  a  hurried  conference  with 
the  captain  and  executive  officer. 

"The  fever  is  rising — perforated  appendix, 
I  think.  Ought  to  operate  at  once — although 
it's  pretty  rough,"  commented  the  doctor 
with  laconic  brevity.  "I'll  do  all  I  can  to 
hold  him  over  until  we  get  in  to  port,  but, 
of  course,  I  won't  wait  a  minute  if  in  my 
opinion  the  operation  becomes  necessary. 
Too  bad  they  didn't  teach  us  to  operate  while 
doing  gymnastic  exercises  at  our  hospital ! 


In  the  Day's  Work  15 

But  there  are  fairly  smooth  spaces  when  the 
ship  is  climbing  a  wave." 

The  doctor  went  back  to  the  engineer's 
cabin  and  relieved  the  hospital  apprentice. 
"You'd  better  get  everything  ready — in  case 
I  need  them.  And  keep  watch  of  that  boy 
in  the  sick-bay;  if  his  temperature  goes  up 
call  me,"  said  the  doctor,  as  he  settled  down 
in  a  chair  by  the  narrow  bunk. 

The  engineer  officer,  opening  tired  eyes, 
looked  at  the  doctor's  kindly  face.  "Beastly 
poor  taste  for  me  to  cave  in  now,"  he  said, 
and  hesitated.  "Is  it — anything  serious?" 
he  asked. 

The  doctor  shook  his  head.  "The  usual 
common  or  garden  variety  of  appendicitis; 
you  should  have  come  to  me  before.  Earlier 
there  was  a  chance  of  my  being  able  to  reduce 
the  inflammation,  but  now  I'll  probably  have 
to  operate,"  he  said. 

The  engineer  officer  drew  a  deep  breath. 
"The  pain — is  almost  unbearable,"  he  whis- 
pered between  clinched  teeth,  his  face  wet 
with  perspiration. 

The  afternoon  dragged  by,  punctuated  by 
the  creaking  of  straining  bulkheads,  the  rac- 


16  In  the  Day's  Work 

ing  of  the  screw,  the  shrieking  of  wind,  and 
lashing  of  rain,  as  the  ship  forged  ahead 
through  the  mist. 

By  evening  there  was  no  chance,  in  the 
doctor's  opinion,  of  avoiding  the  operation. 
He  leaned  over  the  engineer  officer  and  told 
him  this  decision,  even  as  he  realized  that 
the  wide,  shining  eyes  held  no  glance  of  com- 
prehension. A  few  minutes  later  they  carried 
the  oblivious  engineer  through  narrow  pas- 
sages to  the  tiny  operating-room,  where  the 
hospital  apprentice,  inwardly  quaking  under 
the  responsibility  of  assisting  at  a  serious 
operation,  stood,  flanked  by  sterilized  in- 
struments, dressings,  and  sponges,  and  the 
ether  which  he  was  to  administer. 

The  doctor  adjusted  the  sterile  dressings 
and,  fastening  the  abdominal  binder,  removed 
the  gauze  pad  from  over  his  mouth.  "That 
is  good  work — if  I  do  say  it  myself!"  he  said; 
"and  not  one  second  too  soon.  Some  day, 
when  I  have  time,  I'll  write  an  article  for 
the  medical  journals  on  performing  major 
operations  during  a  hurricane  on  the  North 
Sea."  He  glanced  at  the  hospital  apprentice 


In  the  Day's  Work  17 

approvingly.  "You  were  wasting  your  time 
at  Harvard  learning  to  be  a  lawyer !  You'd 
make  a  first-class  surgeon,"  he  praised,  and 
his  assistant  flushed  with  pleasure  as  he  turned 
toward  the  sterilizer  with  a  tray  full  of  in- 
struments. 

The  doctor  helped  straighten  the  cabin, 
keeping  a  watchful  eye  on  the  still  figure  of 
the  engineer  officer.  "Better  to  keep  him 
right  here.  I  can  take  care  of  him  and  regu- 
late the  temperature,  too,"  he  mused,  and 
added  aloud:  "I'll  be  glad  to  get  him  safely 
ashore,  though.  A  sea  voyage  may  be  good 
for  some  sick  people,  but  every  rule  has  its  ex- 
ception. Now,  lad,  you'd  better  get  to  your 
hammock.  There'll  be  another  day  to-mor- 
row— and  it's  nearly  here  !" 

"I  couldn't  go  to  sleep  now,"  protested 
the  apprentice,  turning  the  leaves  of  a  med- 
ical text-book.  He  mumbled  over  the  words : 
"Incision,  superficial  fascia — external  oblique 
muscle — internal  oblique — normal  salt  solu- 
tions— string  suture — catgut.  Gracious  !  Did 
you  do  all  those  things  to  him?"  questioned 
the  apprentice,  busily  informing  himself  on 
appendicitis  operations. 


i8  In  the  Day's  Work 

The  doctor  smiled.    "All  those  !"  he  agreed. 

The  apprentice  turned  the  pages.  "Listen 
to  this!"  he  began,  and  read  an  account  of 
the  decision  by  a  doctor  to  let  a  deformed 
and  mentally  deficient  child  die.  "Caused  a 
lot  of  criticism/'  commented  the  hospital 
apprentice;  "but  I  should  think  that  any 
sensible  person  would  side  with  the  physician 
— wouldn't  you  ?" 

"  No,"  answered  the  doctor  grimly.  "  Every 
human  being  should  have  his  chance — you 
never  can  tell  what  may  be  waiting  just  around 
the  corner.  Where  would  we  end  if  every 
surgeon  had  the  right  to  decide  who  was— 
or  wasn't — entitled  to  go  on  living?"  The 
doctor  laughed.  "Most  of  our  consciences 
will  warn  us  to  avoid  the  operating-table 
when  those  ideas  go  into  effect,"  he  com- 
mented. 

"Well,  I  don't  know—  '  began  the  appren- 
tice, and  helped  the  doctor  fix  the  blankets 
around  the  engineer  officer,  who  was  begin- 
ning to  toss  feebly  about  and  mumble  a  few 
disconnected  words.  "  Piston — furnace — rods 
—bolts — oil — wrenches"  passed  haltingly  in 
review  several  times;  twice,  with  growing 


In  the  Day's  Work  19 

distinctness,  he  spoke  of  the  gauge.  "Do—- 
your— best — boys  !"  urged  the  engineer  officer 
cheerily. 

"Funny  how  the  work  aboard  ship  gets 
into  the  marrow  of  a  man's  bones,"  whis- 
pered the  apprentice  wonderingly;  "even 
ether  won't  drive  it  out !" 

"It's — all — in  the — day's  work,"  mumbled 
the  engineer.  "Whatever — happens,  do — 
your — best !  Then — it — won't — be  your  fault. 
It'll  be — all  in — the  day's — work!"  The 
words  evidently  appealed  to  him.  "All — in 
the — day's  work,"  he  whispered. 

"Sometimes  it's  a  long  day,"  yawned  the 
doctor  tiredly;  then  sought  diversion  in  con- 
versation. "What  were  you  doing  a  year 
ago  to-night  ?"  he  asked. 

"Well,  I  can't  remember  exactly"  said  the 
apprentice.  "I  had  a  crush  on  a  girl  whose 
people  have  a  nice  old  place  at  Dedham,  and 
I  was  out  there  most  of  the  fall.  She  was  a 
pretty  girl — attractive,  too;  but  the  train 
service  to  Dedham  was  poor,  and  after  winter 
closed  in  it  grew  so  cold  travelling  back  and 
forth  that  I  gave  up  going  to  see  her.  I  was 
awfully  in  love  with  that  girl !  What  was  her 


20  In  the  Day's  Work 

name?"  mused  the  hospital  apprentice  per- 
plexedly. 

The  doctor  smiled;  this  was  what  he  had 
hoped  for.  "Will  you  hunt  her  up  again 
after  the  war?"  he  asked  with  earnest  solici- 
tude. 

The  hospital  apprentice  eyed  him  bel- 
ligerently. "With  any  kind  of  luck  she'll 
have  grandchildren  before  this  war  is  over," 
he  prophesied  darkly.  "I'll  come  home  a 
doddering,  famous  old  gentleman  whom  she'll 
be  proud  to  have  known.  'Have  you  for- 
gotten how  I  loved  you?'  I'll  quaver,"  en- 
larged the  apprentice,  growing  sorry  for  him- 
self and  his  blighted  happiness. 

The  doctor  was  not  romantic.  "Maybe 
she'll  have  forgotten  your  name,  too,"  he 
suggested  heartlessly. 

The  hospital  apprentice  lapsed  into  a  wilted 
silence. 

The  engineer  officer  was  holding  a  heated, 
if  halting,  technical  conversation  with  his 
engine-room  assistant.  "You're  wrong  about 
that  valve,  Austin,"  he  repeated  monot- 
onously. The  doctor  waited  until  he  quieted 
down. 


In  the  Day's  Work  21 

"How  did  you  happen  to  apply  for  the 
hospital  corps?"  he  inquired,  knowing  from 
experience  that  almost  any  topic  could  be 
amusing  when  viewed  through  the  appren- 
tice's eyes. 

"Process  of  elimination,"  answered  the 
boy.  "My  governor  doesn't  believe  in  en- 
couraging idleness,  so  during  each  summer 
vacation  I  take  a  shot  at  'earning  my  salt/ 
I've  had  a  try  at  enough  different  kinds  of 
home  diversions  to  know  that  I  wasn't  keen 
to  shovel,  or  oil,  or  scrub  much;  besides,  I 
like  to  save  lives,"  asserted  the  apprentice 
modestly.  "I  often  think  how  I'd  act  on  a 
sinking  ship.  'This  way  to  life-boat  No.  n  ! 
Women  and  kids  first !  Heave  ho  on  the 
line,  my  hearties  !'  "  declaimed  the  apprentice 
dramatically. 

The  doctor  smiled,  then  stood  up  to  hold 
the  blankets  over  the  engineer  officer.  "Wish 
he  wouldn't  toss  around,"  he  said. 

The  engineer  opened  his  eyes  and  looked 
vaguely  about.  "Mary?"  he  whispered, 
and  waited.  "Mary!"  called  the  engineer 
officer,  and  lowered  his  voice.  "Didn't — 
I — tell  you  I'd — be — back?"  he  questioned. 


22  In  the  Day's  Work 

"I've  come — safely  back — to  you — Mary," 
he  affirmed. 

Outside  the  wind  had  risen  to  a  high,  thin 
shriek;  the  rain  lashed  across  the  port-holes 
and  contrasted  strangely  with  the  sunshiny 
garden  of  dreams  in  which  the  sick  man's 
mind  lingered.  He  spoke  comfortingly. 

"Yes — Mary,  dear — we'll  have — iris  and — 
lilacs,  syringas  and — lilies,"  he  promised 
faintly.  "A — little  house — vines,  and  a — 
curving  path — a  meadow — with  long  shadows 
— on  the  grass — and  apple-blossoms!"  His 
voice  changed  to  a  low,  accentless  tone: 
"Don't  cry — little  wife — this  is  what — hap- 
pens when — a  man  goes  down — to  the  sea — 
in  ships.  The  partings — are  cruelly — hard." 

He  tossed  feverishly.  "Mary  and — the — 
baby!"  said  the  engineer  officer  with  clear 
distinctness. 

There  was  silence  except  for  the  roar  of 
the  wind. 

The  engineer  spoke  again.  "A — fine, 
generous — young  country — America,"  he 
whispered  musingly;  "not  what — our  fore- 
fathers intended — perhaps — but  lovable  ! 
They  forget — so  quickly — Americans,  because 


In  the  Day's  Work  23 

— they're  young,"  he  explained,  and  went  on : 
"When  the — war  is  over — we'll  have — the 
little  house — blue  smoke  from  the  chimneys — 
across  the — winter  sky — jonquils,  in  spring — 
and  birds,  calling — calling  to — Mary,  and — 
the — baby,"  asserted  the  engineer  officer  in 
a  wistful  voice  and  looked  fixedly  at  the  doc- 
tor. 

The  hospital  apprentice  tucked  in  a  blanket 
end.  "Funny  what  they  remember,  isn't 
it  ?  I  wouldn't  have  guessed  that  he  had  an 
ounce  of  sentiment " 

The  engineer  officer  was  speaking;  it  was 
the  continuation,  no  doubt,  of  a  conversation 
ended  weeks  before.  "Don't  cry — Mary," 
he  comforted.  "Soon,  perhaps — I'll  be  back 
— and  then — we'll  try  to  save — toward  getting 
— the  little  house."  He  wrinkled  his  forehead 
in  thoughtful  perplexity.  "I  can't  remember 
— how  it  goes — but  it's  something  about — 
there  not  being — 'any  more  sea ! '  Don't 
cry,  Mary — /  promise  you — there  shall  not  be 
— any  more  sea." 

The  doctor  glanced  toward  the  black  circle 
of  the  port-hole.  "Guess  there'll  be  a  lot 
of  us  who  will  have  had  enough  sea  by  the 


24  In  the  Day's  Work 

time  this  cruise  is  over,"  he  commented  cheer- 
fully. "I  feel  quite  differently  about  the 
emigration  question  since  I've  been  intimately 
acquainted  with  the  climate  over  here.  I 
don't  wonder  they're  all  so  keen  about  getting 
'a  place  in  the  sun.'  Even  such  a  poor,  half- 
baked,  watery  sun  as  theirs  is!" 

The  hospital  apprentice  grinned.  "  'Damp- 
ness is  what  makes  the  trees  so  green,'  "  he 
quoted  provocatively. 

"Humph!"  growled  the  doctor. 

"What  are  they  going  to  live  on — if  any- 
thing happens  to  me?"  questioned  the  en- 
gineer officer,  so  coherently  that  the  appren- 
tice jumped;  the  worried  tone  changed  to 
command:  "Clean  up  that  bright  work," 
he  ordered;  "what  sort  of  showing  will  we 
make  at  inspection — with  it  that  way?" 
Suddenly  his  unrecognizing  eyes  filled  with 
tears.  "/  can't  die!"  groaned  the  engineer. 
"Can't  you  realize  that — there's  nothing  for 
them  to  live  on?"  He  paused  and  looked 
vaguely  about.  "Where  am  I  ?"  he  ques- 
tioned. 

"Try  to  lie  still,"  suggested  the  doctor, 
and  shook  his  head  at  the  unanswering  stare. 


In  the  Day's  Work  25 

"He  will  be  out  from  under  the  anaesthetic 
in  a  few  minutes,"  he  said,  and  added :  "Time 
for  you  to  turn  in,  young  man." 

The  hospital  apprentice  yawned.  "I  am 
getting  sleepy,"  he  admitted;  "I'll  go  to 
bed  as  soon  as  I've  taken  the  temperature 
of  that  fellow  in  the  sick-bay." 

The  doctor  nodded.  "I  don't  think  he  has 
anything  but  the  beginning  of  a  bad  cold — 
and  we've  knocked  that  out — but  I  don't  like 
to  take  chances,"  he  said,  pulling  the  blanket 
up  over  the  tossing  figure  on  the  table. 
"Keep  as  quiet  as  you  can!"  he  admonished 
soothingly  to  unheeding  ears. 

The  engineer  officer  was  far  away  from 
ships  and  storms  and  suffering. 

"Apple-blossoms?"  he  suggested;  "roses? 
'Gather — your  rosebuds — while  you — may/ 
Time  doesn't — fly  very  swiftly — nowadays, 
does  it,  dear  ?  But  nothing — lasts  forever ! — 
except  love — "  whispered  the  engineer  to  a 
woman  who,  leagues  away,  was  filling  the 
aching  loneliness  of  the  long  days  with  lovely 
plans  and  dreams  for  the  coming  years. 

"Teach  the — baby  to  Jbe — like  you.  I — 
wouldn't  ask  anything  better — than  that!" 


26  In  the  Day's  Work 

said  the  engineer  gently.  "And  if  I — don't 
come  back — you'll  be  thankful — after  the 
first — sorrow  is  over — that  I — did  my  duty." 

The  doctor  moved  uneasily.  "Feel  as 
though  I  were  listening  at  a  keyhole  or  read- 
ing some  one's  letters,"  he  growled.  "I'll 
be  glad  when  he  quits  talking." 

The  hospital  apprentice  returned.  "Nor- 
mal," he  reported,  putting  down  the  ther- 
mometer; "he  can  go  back  to  duty  in  the 
morning.  Anything  else  I  can  do  ?  What 
an  awful  night!"  he  commented,  as  the  ship 
pitched  into  the  trough  of  the  sea. 

"Yes,"  agreed  the  doctor;  "when  I  write 
my  prescription  for  a  cottage  in  the  country 
I'll  omit  the  wind — as  well  as  the  sea.  Must 
be  fun  to  plan  such  things  with  your  wife," 
he  mused.  "In  the  navy  you  spend  most  of 
your  time  planning  for  things  you  never  get 
a  chance  to  do.  But  anticipation  is  free!" 
He  motioned  toward  the  engineer.  "He 
doesn't  think  of  the  days  when  the  cot- 
tage roof  will  leak  and  the  furnace  go  on  a 
strike."  He  paused  and  looked  closely  at  his 
patient. 

"  Hulloa,  old   man !     Feeling  all   shot   to 


In  the  Day's  Work  27 

pieces  at  the  hands  of  a  trusted  friend?"  he 
questioned  clearly. 

The  engineer  officer  smiled.  "Hulloa,  doc ! 
Is  it — over?"  he  whispered. 

"It  certainly  is!"  asserted  the  doctor. 
"That  appendix  is  now  attached  to  one  of 
the  swells  of  the  sea  and,  judging  from  ap- 
pearances, they're  plenty  strong  enough  to 
stand  it !  Now,  if  you'll  lie  still  and  take 
things  easy  you'll  be  as  fit  as  a  fiddle  in  a 
short  time —  Great  Scott!"  ejaculated  the 
doctor  as,  with  a  deafening  crash,  the  ship 
keeled  sharply  on  her  side. 

There  was  a  rain  of  broken  glass,  instru- 
ments, and  hospital  stores  from  the  wall 
cabinets;  in  an  instant  the  small  cabin  was 
littered  with  a  chaotic  mass  of  wreckage  as 
the  doctor  climbed  painfully  to  his  feet  and 
wiped  the  blood  from  a  cut  across  his  fore- 
head out  of  his  eyes. 

The  hospital  apprentice,  steadying  an  in- 
jured arm,  helped  the  doctor  pull  the  en- 
gineer's limp  body  back  onto  the  table — 
then,  turning,  opened  the  door  into  the  pas- 
sageway and  looked  out.  "Torpedoed!" 
whispered  the  apprentice,  with  a  little  gasp. 


28  In  the  Day's  Work 

"The  whole  side's  blown  out — we'll  have  to 
hurry — to  get  away." 

The  doctor  eyed  him  quietly.  "Get  the 
sailor  in  the  sick-bay  an  overcoat  and  take 
him  up  on  deck  with  you,"  he  advised,  ad- 
justing a  small  pillow  under  the  engineer 
officer's  head.  "And  if  you  see  the  executive 
ask  what  the  chances  are  for  getting  him 
away,"  he  said,  indicating  the  sick  man. 

"The  executive's  cabin  was  right  above 
where  the  torpedo  hit.  He's  dead,  prob- 
ably!" said  the  apprentice  as  he  disappeared 
through  the  door. 

From  outside  a  terrific  clamor  had  arisen; 
there  was  the  shrill  sound  of  escaping  steam, 
the  clatter  of  running  feet,  the  clear  call  of 
a  bugle,  the  sharp,  insistent  snapping  of 
wrenched  rivets  and  beams;  and  suddenly 
there  came  the  dull  boom  of  an  explosion. 

11  What  has  happened?"  whispered  the  en- 
gineer officer  vaguely. 

"Nothing — but  what  comes  in  the  day's 
work,"  the  doctor  assured  him,  and  added: 
"Will  you  lie  perfectly  still  while  I'm  away 
for  a  few  seconds  ?" 

The  engineer  nodded.    The  doctor  hurried 


In  the  Day's  Work  29 

into  the  passage  and  ran  up  the  gangway- 
ladder.  Already  the  ship  was  listing;  on 
deck  an  officer  and  some  sailors  were  working 
at  the  lashings  of  the  life-rafts.  There  was 
little  confusion  or  noise  except  where  the 
gunners  were  loading  and  firing  the  forward 
guns  at  the  unoffending  waves,  and  a  quarter- 
master stolidly  hoisted  the  distress  signal 
flags  across  the  sloping  yard-arm. 

The  doctor  smiled  grimly  as  he  spelled  out 
the  message. 

Near  by  two  overturned  launches  floated 
on  the  towering  waves;  a  dreary  curtain  of 
mist  shut  down  on  any  approaching  help. 

The  doctor  turned  and  went  back  to  his 
cabin;  smiling,  he  bent  over  the  engineer 
officer.  "I  may  need  to  do  a  little  more  to 
your  side,  but  first — "  He  wrenched  the 
wardrobe  door  loose  and  slid  it  carefully 
under  the  sick  man.  Deftly  and  swiftly  he 
wound  long  woollen  bandages  across  the 
engineer  officer's  body  and  around  the  door. 
"I  need  a  little  more  space  for  you,"  he  ex- 
plained. 

The  engineer  watched  him  with  puzzled 
bewilderment. 


30  In  the  Day's  Work 

The  door  to  the  passageway  swung  sud- 
denly open.  "Are  you  going  to  drown  down 
here — like  a  rat  in  a  trap?"  demanded  the 
hospital  apprentice  breathlessly  from  the 
doorway. 

The  doctor  eyed  him  with  stern  disap- 
proval. "Don't  speak  to  me  like  that,"  he 
said. 

The  hospital  apprentice  laughed  mirth- 
lessly. "Discipline!"  he  ejaculated.  "In 
a  few  minutes  there  won't  be  any  discipline 
because  there  won't  be  any  ship !  Come  up 
on  deck  where,  at  least,  you'll  have  a  fighting 
chance."  He  lowered  his  voice.  "The  sub- 
marine that  got  us  came  to  the  surface  just 
now!" 

"Did  they  offer  to  rescue  any  one  ?"  ques- 
tioned the  doctor  sharply  as  he  carried  the 
ether  nearer. 

"No,"  answered  the  apprentice.  "The 
submarine's  officers  and  crew  laughed  as 
they  saw  our  men  trying  to  launch  the  ship's 
boats  and  keep  them  afloat!"  He  hesitated, 
and  motioned  toward  the  engineer.  "You 
can't  save  him!  Come  along!"  he  urged. 

The  doctor  did  not  answer  as  he  lowered 


Even  as  they  turned,  the  ship,  with  a  sharp  upward  swing  of  her  stern, 
lifted  it  high  in  the  air — then  .  .  .  plunged  down  through  the  icy 
water. 


In  the  Day's  Work  31 

the  ether  cone  and  bent  over  his  patient. 
"Can  you  understand  me?"  he  questioned. 

"Yes,"  whispered  the  sick  man. 

"Then  do  as  I  tell  you — for  Mary  and  the 
baby  !"  commanded  the  doctor. 

The  engineer  officer  nodded  faintly. 

"Breathe — deep!  Breathe  deep  !  Breathe 
deep  !  That's  fine  !  Keep  it  up,  old  fellow," 
ordered  the  doctor,  and  glanced  up  at  the 
appalled  apprentice. 

"I  couldn't  let  a  half-conscious  man  face 
the  horror  of  the  next  few  minutes!"  com- 
mented the  doctor.  "Now,  if  he  drowns,  he 
won't  know  anything  about  it.  It's  the  best 
I  could  do,"  explained  the  doctor  humbly. 

The  ship,  with  a  lurch,  listed  sharply  to 
starboard;  a  wave  of  icy  water  ran  across 
the  deck.  The  doctor  turned  to  the  hospital 
apprentice. 

"Is  your  good  arm  strong  enough  to  help 
me  get  him  up  on  deck?"  he  questioned 
breathlessly. 

The  hospital  apprentice  nodded.  Together 
they  hoisted  the  engineer  up  the  gangway- 
ladder;  together  shoved  the  door  out  over 
the  sloping  side  and  watched  it  float  away 


32  In  the  Day's  Work 

with  its  unconscious  burden  on  the  crest  of 
a  great  wave;  then,  steadying  themselves, 
looked  for  a  loose  spar  or  life-preserver. 

Even  as  they  turned,  the  ship,  with  a  sharp 
upward  swing  of  her  stern,  lifted  it  high  in 
the  air — then,  like  a  great  stone,  plunged 
down  through  the  icy  water. 

But  the  engineer  officer,  struggling  slowly 
back  to  health  in  an  English  hospital,  will 
never  again  during  his  lifetime  hear  the  wind 
blow  and  the  rain  beat  against  the  window 
without  feeling  a  helpless  sense  of  agonized 
humbleness  deeper  and  keener  than  pain. 


II 

THE  ADMIRAL'S  BIRTHDAY 

ALTHOUGH  it  was  a  half-hour  later  than 
his  usual  breakfast-time,  the  admiral  seemed 
in  no  hurry  to  leave  the  table.  Idly  his  glance 
went  from  the  large  steel-and-glass  case  hold- 
ing the  silver  service,  presented  by  the  ship's 
name-State,  to  the  unnatural  orderliness  of 
the  steel  desk  and  the  bare  leather  cushions 
on  the  steel  sofa. 

Outside,  the  bugler  trailed  by  in  the  wake 
of  the  band;  they  had  just  finished  playing 
the  national  anthem  as  the  colors  were  hoisted, 
and  a  thrush,  in  a  tasselled  Chinese  cage  by 
the  cabin  port-hole,  sang  defiantly  back. 
The  admiral  got  up  and  looked  thoughtfully 
at  the  bird. 

"I  never  could  get  on  happily  aboard  ship 
without  a  pet,"  he  mused,  and  glanced  toward 
the  near-by  shore.  Fingering  the  catch,  he 
unhooked  and  opened  the  little  door. 

"I  can't  carry  a  bird-cage  about  with  me! 

33 


34         The  Admiral's  Birthday 

I'd  give  you  a  dot  if  I  knew  how,  Dick,  but 
you  haven't  been  in  captivity  long  enough  to 
have  forgotten  all  your  old  ways,"  he  said. 

The  thrush  hopped  to  the  opening,  balanced 
a  moment  there,  and  went  back  into  the  cage, 
peering  with  questioning,  beadlike  eyes  at 
his  friend. 

"It's  all  right,  Dick,"  said  the  admiral, 
and  turned  away.  "After  forty-six  years  in 
the  navy,  I  won't  know  what  to  do  with  my 
liberty  either,"  he  mused,  walking  aimlessly 
about  the  cabin.  Before  a  small  cabinet  he 
stopped  and  opened  the  glass  door  with  a 
key  on  his  key-ring.  Lifting  the  contents 
out,  he  put  them  one  by  one  on  the  table. 
Valueless  objects  they  were — souvenirs  of 
sport  or  achievement,  of  folly  or  tragedy; 
useless  as  the  garbled  gleanings  from  a  small 
boy's  pocket;  but  cherished  from  association, 
and  interesting  to  the  initiated  because  of 
the  glistening  thread  of  adventure  brightening 
all  the  intricately  woven  fabric — that  is  life. 

First  came  a  photograph  of  a  group  of 
men  on  the  deck  of  an  ice-bound  ship.  The 
admiral  examined  it  gravely.  "My  mid- 
shipman's cruise — three  years'  surveying  duty 


The  Admiral's  Birthday         35 

around  northern  Alaska,  in  the  old  Patterson 
— and  we  all  wore  side-whiskers,"  he  com- 
mented, and  smiled.  His  wife  had  often  re- 
marked that  if  she  had  seen  that  photograph 
when  she  was  engaged  she  would  never  have 
had  the  courage  to  marry  him,  for  fear,  in 
some  misguided  moment,  he  might  be  tempted 
to  raise  side-whiskers  again. 

Next  he  took  out  a  string  of  fragile,  iri- 
descent shells.  Before  him  Samoa  gleamed 
in  the  sunshine  serene  and  golden;  sweet 
with  jessamine,  colorful  with  Bougainvillea, 
with  palm-trees  moving  in  the  trade-wind; 
while  above  the  thatched  roofs  of  the  native 
huts  the  blue  smoke  of  wood  fires  rose  in 
the  clear  air;  and  at  night  the  moonlight 
made  a  radiant  pathway  across  the  dark 
lagoons. 

A  small  square  box  lined  with  imperial 
yellow  satin  and  containing  a  tiny  silver  sake 
cup  incised  with  a  crude  plum-blossom  came 
next.  The  admiral's  face  was  stern  as  he 
remembered  the  last  Korean  king  and  his 
pleasant,  courteous  speech  when  he  pre- 
sented the  little  bowls  as  dinner  souvenirs 
to  the  visiting  American  officers.  "  *  Uneasy 


36         The  Admiral's  Birthday 

lies  the  head  that  wears  a  crown  !'  His  wasn't 
uneasy  for  very  long  after  that,"  commented 
the  admiral  dryly,  and  picked  up  a  Hawaiian 
coin. 

"Won  it  at  poker  .  .  .  from  Kalakaua ! 
Always  had  to  remind  him  'ante  up,  king!' 
Those  were  the  days!"  smiled  the  admiral 
whimsically. 

Then  followed  numerous  mementos,  con- 
juring up  the  memory  of  adventures  on  all 
the  seven  seas:  a  flint  weather-charm  that 
had  guided  the  way  through  a  blinding  snow- 
storm in  the  devious  Straits  of  Magellan;  a 
long  nail,  bent  into  corkscrew-like  spirals,  told 
of  a  typhoon,  with  death  and  destruction  in 
its  wake,  swooping  across  the  Indian  Ocean, 
when  the  ship  had  trembled  like  an  exhausted 
horse;  a  primitive  barbed  and  feathered 
hook  recalled  an  interrupted  fishing  expedi- 
tion off  Herschel's  Island,  where  the  sudden 
hurricane  had  caught  and  nearly  overpowered 
the  small  boat  among  mountainous  waves, 
and  the  sea-birds,  wild  with  fright,  had  driven 
helplessly  down  the  icy  wind. 

A  small  stone  Kwanyin  brought  memories 
of  gunboat  days  and  the  stupendous  love- 


The  Admiral's  Birthday         37 

liness  of  the  Yangtze  valley.  A  piece  of  crude, 
mortuary,  Ainu  pottery  told  of  a  dangerous 
amateur  excavating  expedition  under  drifting 
cherry-blossom  petals  in  northern  Japan. 

A  thin  scarlet  card  was  the  reminder  of 
a  presentation  to  the  Dowager  Empress  in 
the  Forbidden  City — when  that  dominant 
lady  had  led  the  silent  young  Emperor  about 
by  the  hand  as  though  he  were  a  bashful 
schoolboy. 

A  poisoned  arrow-head  told  of  uneasy  days 
in  the  southern  Philippines,  where  a  molten, 
copper  sun  came  up  from  behind  the  flaming 
fire-trees  and  showed  the  dense,  tangled  un- 
derbrush through  which  the  Moro  warriors 
crawled  undetected  to  the  water's  edge.  And 
at  night,  through  the  hot,  muffling  darkness, 
sounded  the  wistful,  solitary  piping  of  a  reed 
flute.  Blown  by  whom  ?  And  why  ? 

Of  a  two  years'  tour  of  shore  duty  in  Guam 
there  was  no  souvenir,  nor  was  one  necessary. 
In  the  cemetery  at  remote  Agafia  was  the 
grave  of  the  admiral's  only  child  .  .  .  the 
wee  daughter,  whose  tiny  feet  pattering  un- 
evenly on  their  short  earthly  pilgrimage  still 
echoed  across  his  heart  and  tightened  his 


38         The  Admiral's  Birthday 

throat  in  a  bitter  memory  of  the  futility  of 
all  available  human  skill.  "If  we  had  been 
where  experienced  doctors  and  specialists 
could  have  been  called  .  .  .  ?"  his  sick  spirit 
reiterated,  unsolaced  by  time's  effacing  touch. 

Leisurely  the  admiral  cleared  the  cabinet 
and  stood  looking  silently  at  his  trophies. 
Turning,  he  rang  for  his  mess-attendant. 
"You  can  pack  these,  Pedro;  they're  the  last 
things,  I  think,"  he  said. 

Through  the  open  port-hole  a  boyish  voice 
sounded  clearly:  "I  don't  know  what  to  say! 
You  can't  congratulate  an  officer  on  reaching 
a  birthday  that  puts  him  on  the  shelf  .  .  . 
cuts  him  away,  clean  and  sharp,  from  the 
work  of  a  lifetime  .  .  .  ,"  the  voice  trailed 
off.  A  knock  sounded. 

"Come  in,"  called  the  admiral. 

The  ship's  junior  officers  stood  in  the  door- 
way, and  a  pleasant-faced  ensign  stepped 
forward.  "Many  happy  birthdays  to  you, 
sir,"  he  said  shyly;  "we  knew  we  wouldn't 
get  a  chance  later,  so  we  came  to  tell  you 
what  an  honor  we  consider  it  to  have  served 
on  your  flag-ship  and  how  sorry  we  are  that 
you  are  going  to  leave,"  he  added. 


The  Admiral's  Birthday         39 

The  admiral's  face  brightened.  "This  is 
thoughtful  of  you,"  he  said,  realizing  the 
good-will  behind  their  reticence.  "The  time 
comes  to  all  of  us  ...  when  we  are  towed 
into  some  landlocked  backwater  .  .  .  and  left 
there.  It  has  to  be — to  make  promotion." 

The  ensign  spoke  again.  "We'd  just  as 
soon  not  be  promoted  if  it  means  your  going, 
sir,"  he  said  quickly,  and  the  others  mur- 
mured their  agreement. 

The  admiral  was  pleased.  "I'll  be  glad  to 
remember  that !  And  don't  forget  that  I'll 
be  watching  your  careers  with  interest,"  he 
said. 

Pedro  appeared  at  the  stateroom  door. 
"What  uniform  will  you  wear,  sir  ?"  he  asked. 

"Dress,  with  epaulets,  cocked  hat,  sword, 
and  white  gloves,"  answered  the  admiral. 

The  junior  officers  left.  The  admiral  went 
into  his  stateroom;  for  the  last  time  he  put 
on  his  uniform,  buckled  his  sword-belt,  took 
up  his  gloves,  and  went  back  into  the  cabin, 
where  his  aide  and  the  captain  of  the  ship 
were  waiting  for  him.  From  outside  the 
measured  tramp  of  a  thousand  pairs  of  feet 
told  that  the  crew  were  assembling  on  deck. 


40         The  Admiral's  Birthday 

A  bugle  sounded  clear  and  high  above  the 
shrill  crescendo  of  the  boatswain's  mate  pip- 
ing quarters. 

The  admiral,  the  captain,  and  the  aide 
eyed  each  other  with  the  inarticulate  speech- 
lessness  of  those  who  go  down  to  the  sea  in 
ships,  and  each  found  comfort  in  the  other's 
very  apparent  misery. 

The  admiral  cleared  his  throat.  "I've 
left  everything  in  order,  I  think,"  he  said; 
"you  can  turn  those  reports  over  to  my  re- 
lief .  .  .  and  the  yeoman  has  typewritten 
copies  of  all  letters.  Come  in!"  he  called. 

"Officers  and  men  up  and  aft,  sir,"  an- 
nounced the  executive  officer  from  the  door- 
way. 

The  admiral  buttoned  his  gloves,  took  up 
the  envelope  containing  his  orders,  and,  fol- 
lowed by  the  captain  and  aide,  walked  to 
the  door.  In  the  opening  he  paused  a  second 
for  a  glimpse  of  the  last  ceremonial  of  his 
long  career  .  .  .  trying  to  print  ineffaceably 
on  his  memory  the  scene  before  him. 

On  one  side  of  the  wide  deck  the  marines 
curved  in  long  khaki-colored  lines;  on  the 
other  side  the  sailors  massed  in  a  great  blur 


The  Admiral's  Birthday         41 

of  blue  and  white.  Across  the  deck  a  row  of 
officers,  junior  officers,  and  petty  officers 
added  the  glint  of  brass  buttons  and  gold 
braid.  The  gun's  crew  stood  ready  at  their 
posts  and,  by  the  after-mast,  a  quartermaster 
held  the  halyards  of  the  blue,  two-starred 
admiral's  flag  in  his  hand.  A  curious  stillness 
rested  over  the  scene,  broken,  as  the  admiral 
stepped  forward,  by  the  bugle-call  of  "at- 
tention," and  the  officer  of  the  deck's  com- 
mand: "Salute!" 

The  admiral  returned  the  salute  and  walked 
across  the  deck  to  where  the  Stars  and  Stripes 
whipped  sharply  in  the  breeze  and  the  shadow 
of  the  flag  flickered  across  the  white  planking. 
Against  the  background  of  this  symbol  to 
which  he  had  dedicated  a  lifetime  of  clean, 
arduous  service,  he  stood  facing  the  crew  of 
his  last  command  and  unfolded  his  orders. 
His  voice  was  clear  and  even: 

"Office  of  the  Secretary  of  the  Navy, 

Navy  Department, 
{t~  WASHINGTON,  D.  C. 

"On  October  20,  1917,  you  will  have  attained  the 
age  of  sixty-four  (64)  years,  and  will  be  transferred 
to  the  Retired  List  of  Officers  of  the  Navy,  from  that 


42         The  Admiral's  Birthday 

date,  in  accordance  with  the  provisions  of  Section  1444 
of  the  Revised  Statutes. 

"On  that  date  you  will  haul  down  your  flag  on  board 
the  U.  S.  S.  Idaho;  will  regard  yourself  as  detached 
from  duty;  will  proceed  to  your  home. 

"(Signed)  SECRETARY  OF  THE  NAVY," 

read  the  admiral. 

With  the  last  word  for  a  signal,  the  bat- 
tery rang  out  in  a  salute  of  seventeen  guns, 
and  from  the  masthead  the  square  flag  started 
slowly  on  its  downward  journey.  The  ad- 
miral watched  it  with  steady  eyes;  only  the 
hand  holding  the  folded  orders  trembled  a 
little  as  the  slackened  rope  ceased  moving 
and  the  flag — his  flag — dropped  to  the  quar- 
termaster's grasp. 

Through  the  long  lines  of  saluting  officers, 
sailors,  and  marines  he  walked  back  to  his 
cabin  and  disappeared  through  the  narrow 
door,  and,  as  he  changed  his  uniform  for 
civilian's  clothes,  he  heard  the  tramp  of  the 
crew,  the  boastful  call  of  the  bugles,  the  shrill 
crescendo  of  the  boatswain's  mate's  pipe,  the 
commands  of  officers,  and  as  eight  bells 
sounded  the  band  fared  breezily  into  the  open- 
ing bars  of  an  antiquated  comic-opera  song. 


The  Admiral's  Birthday        43 

All  the  intimate,  cheerful,  unnoticed,  every- 
day sights  and  sounds  loomed  large  with  in- 
tolerable loss  as  the  admiral  clumsily  tied 
his  detested  necktie  with  groping,  unaccus- 
tomed fingers.  .  .  . 

In  the  cabin  his  servants  waited  in  a  for- 
lorn group  to  say  good-by.  He  brushed  aside 
a  brusque  wish  to  have  the  whole  business 
hurried  through,  and  responded  with  his 
habitual  kindliness;  then  rang  the  bell. 

"Have  my  launch  got  ready — to  take  me 
ashore,"  he  told  the  orderly. 

"Your  launch  is  at  the  gangway,  sir,"  the 
answer  came  back. 

The  admiral  hardly  noticed  the  bustle  out- 
side as  he  turned  and  looked  about  the  silent 
cabin,  with  its  bare  desk  and  table,  to  where, 
by  the  port-hole,  the  empty  tasselled  Chinese 
cage  swung  slowly  in  the  offshore  wind. 

Blindly  he  walked  away  and  passed  out 
of  the  cabin  door.  Across  the  deck  the  ship's 
officers  waited,  feigning  a  cheerfulness  they 
did  not  feel.  The  air  was  full  of  their  volubly 
reiterated  good  wishes,  but  several  faces 
were  missing. 

The  admiral  hesitated.    "Chalmers?    Mor- 


44         The  Admiral's  Birthday 

ton  ?  Rees  ?"  he  inquired  as  he  went  toward 
the  gangway  ladder.  One  glance  at  the  wait- 
ing barge  answered  his  question.  A  pulling- 
boat,  manned  by  officers,  waited  to  take  him 
ashore,  and  as  he  climbed  to  his  seat  in  the 
stern  the  sailors,  heedless  of  half-appeased 
appetites,  gathered  on  the  forecastle  and  in 
the  starboard  gangway  and  cheered  until  the 
echoes  answered  back  the  admiral's  name. 
And  when  the  pulling-boat  had  landed  him, 
and  the  last  good-by  was  spoken,  he  stood, 
a  solitary  figure  on  the  dock  end,  and  looked 
at  the  receding  boat-load  of  officers  and  the 
gray  ship,  with  her  grim,  bristling  guns,  lift- 
ing her  lacelike  cage  masts  across  the  blue 
sky  as  she  rode  easily  between  her  anchor 
chains. 

A  fine  ship,  the  flag-ship !     His,  no  more. 

At  the  hotel  his  wife,  awaiting  him,  felt 
the  sharp  sting  of  tears  as  she  noted  the  for- 
lorn droop  of  his  shoulders,  but  she  smiled 
as  he  saluted  her  deferentially.  "I  have  to 
report  that  I  am  permanently  at  your  ser- 
vice," he  said  with  impressive  formality. 

:<  Thank  goodness  you've  come,  John !" 
she  said  briskly.  "I  want  you  to  go  to  the 


The  air  was  full  of  their  volubly  reiterated  good  wishes. 


The  Admiral's  Birthday         45 

Pullman  office  and  make  a  reservation  on 
this  evening's  train  while  I  telegraph  Marian. 
I  couldn't  make  any  final  arrangements,  be- 
cause I  didn't  know  when  you  would  get 
back.  And  will  you  get  some  one  to  fix  the 
lock  on  my  brown  trunk  ?  You'll  have  to 
hurry!"  she  added  energetically. 

The  admiral  gasped.  "Reservations — for 
where  ?"  he  asked. 

"Silver  City,  of  course  !  That's  the  nearest 
station  to  the  Cliffords'  ranch.  They  have 
a  lovely  young  horse  for  you  to  train — one 
that  no  one  has  ever  tried  to  ride  on  before. 
Marian  says  she'll  guarantee  that  animal  to 
distract  your  mind  from  your  .  .  .  she  says 
you'll  have  to  keep  your  mind  on  the  horse. 
They  have  a  wonderful  ranch — with  all  sorts 
of  wild  animals,  you  know." 

"I  rather  wanted  to  stay  around  here — 
until  the  ship  left,"  ventured  the  admiral,  but 
his  smile  deepened.  "I've  weathered  a  good 
deal  ...  to  finally  end  my  career  on  a  buck- 
ing bronco !  Couldn't  Marian  and  you  have 
picked  out  a  less  strenuous  counter-irritant 
for  me  ?  Why,  Caroline  !" 

The  admiral's  wife  was  crying  quietly. 


46         The  Admiral's  Birthday 

"I  won't  have  you  wandering  around  the 
pier,  looking  like  a  lost  soul  and  grieving 
about  that  ship,"  she  sobbed.  "I'm  sorry 
you  feel  badly  about  it  but  oh !  how  glad 
and  thankful  I  am  that  at  last  you've  come 
home!"  said  the  admiral's  wife. 


Ill 

BETWEEN  THE  TREATY  PORTS 

I  NEVER  see  my  waitress  spreading  the  em- 
broidered cloth  I  bought  in  Hong-Kong  but 
the  whole  occurrence  comes  back  to  me,  to- 
gether with  the  remembrance  of  the  sights 
and  sounds  of  that  hot  May  day. 

The  table-cloth — folded  into  a  neat  bundle 
— was  under  my  arm  as  I  stepped  from  the 
cool  embroidery-shop  into  the  blinding  glare 
of  Queen's  Road.  My  head  ached  and  I 
would  never  have  joined  the  crowd  gathered 
about  some  itinerant  jugglers  if  it  had  not 
been  for  a  charmingly  dressed  woman,  ac- 
companied by  a  Chinese  servant,  who  stood 
watching  them. 

After  fifteen  months  of  following  my  hus- 
band's ship  up  and  down  the  Asiatic  station, 
my  wardrobe  had  reached  the  state  where  it 
was  wise,  when  possible,  to  ignore  it;  and 
the  sight  of  such  a  dress  as  that  woman  wore 
was,  at  first,  more  of  an  attraction  than  the 

47 


48        Between  the  Treaty  Ports 

juggling.  And,  upon  closer  inspection,  I  de- 
cided that  she  justified  the  gown,  for  she  was 
very  lovely. 

She  hesitated,  then  smiling  back  at  me 
motioned  toward  the  jugglers.  "The  cleverest 
I've  ever  seen — they're  really  worth  watch- 
ing," she  said. 

They  were.  Soon  I  was  completely  en- 
grossed by  their  remarkable  achievements. 

A  rose-tree  sprouted,  grew,  and  blossomed 
in  the  middle  of  the  street.  A  stork  emerged 
from  an  egg,  flourished,  and  flew  away.  The 
basket  trick  held  us — loitering  ricksha  coolies, 
Englishmen,  Chinese  gentlemen,  and  a  few 
women — absorbed  in  the  glaring  noonday 
sunshine,  while  my  new  acquaintance  and  I 
admired  and  wondered  and  her  Chinese  ser- 
vant watched  us  with  black,  unblinking  eyes. 

There  came  a  pause.  The  older  juggler 
passed  a  small  basket  among  his  audience 
and,  dissatisfied,  handed  it  round  a  second 
time.  The  money  was  counted  and  divided. 

I  remembered  my  headache  and  thought 
of  the  cool  hotel.  "They  seem  to  have  fin- 
ished," I  said. 

"No,"  she  answered,  "I  rather  think  the 


Between  the  Treaty  Ports       49 

best  is  coming.  They're  passing  that  basket 
again  !  I'll  give  them  enough  to  hurry  them." 

She  dropped  a  bill  into  the  juggler's  hand, 
and  spoke  sharply  to  him  in  Chinese. 

"How  splendid  to  be  able  to  speak  this 
difficult  language!"  I  said  admiringly. 

She  smiled.  "It's  easy  to  pick  up — when 
you  don't  hear  anything  else  for  months  at 
a  time,"  she  answered,  and  added:  '" You're 
an  American,  aren't  you  ?" 

I  nodded. 

"I  haven't  spoken  to  an  American  woman 
in  years,"  she  commented,  and  to  my  ex- 
clamation, "But  you're  an  American,  too!" 
she  gave  an  unwilling  "Yes." 

"Look!"  she  cried  hastily;  "I  thought  so! 
They  are  going  to  do  the  rope  trick." 

I  gasped.  Already  the  two  men  were  above 
our  heads,  climbing,  hand  over  hand,  up  the 
rope  that  they  had  thrown  into  the  air  where, 
straight  and  taut,  it  stretched  above  them. 
Steadily  they  ascended,  their  arms  and  legs 
moving  with  automatic  regularity;  soon  they 
were  noticeably  smaller,  as  on  and  on  they 
went,  up  and  up,  higher  and  higher,  then 
paused  and  stopped. 


So       Between  the  Treaty  Ports 

Far  above  us  they  hung  motionless  for  a 
perceptible  time,  looking  down  with  un- 
wavering scrutiny  on  the  crowd  below;  then 
upward  again,  until  they  dwindled  to  tiny 
dots — and  disappeared. 

I  moved  my  head  stiffly  about  to  ease  the 
cramp  in  my  neck. 

"  I  can  hear  myself  trying  to  explain  this," 
I  commented.  "Every  one  will  say  that  we 
were  hypnotized.  I've  heard  of  this  trick  and 
how  a  photograph  only  shows  a  blank  place 
where  the  jugglers  should  be." 

"Can  a  hypnotized  person  take  reliable 
photographs?"  she  asked,  and  turned  to  the 
servant.  "You  hypnotized,  Et-san?"  she 
questioned. 

The  servant  shook  her  head,  her  eyes  on 
my  face. 

"I  wonder — what  they  saw — when  they 
stopped  and  looked  back,"  mused  the  mis- 
tress. 

"Maybe  they  were  wondering  if  we  had 
enough  money  left  to  make  a  return  trip 
profitable,"  I  ventured  flippantly. 

She  did  not  seem  to  hear  me. 

"I've  often   thought — how   fine   it   would 


Between  the  Treaty  Ports       51 

be — to  get  high  enough  above  the  fret  and 
muddle  of  every-day  living — and  see  what 
really  is  large,"  said  the  woman,  while  bitter- 
ness grew  in  her  quiet  voice. 

The  crowd  had  melted  away;  we  stood 
alone  beside  the  narrow  street,  and  I  was 
conscious  that  looking  up  toward  the  sun 
was  not  a  cure  for  headache.  The  hotel 
seemed  far  away. 

"I  must  go,"  I  said,  motioning  to  a  ricksha 
coolie.  "Til  see  you  again,"  I  called  back. 

She  smiled  and  nodded.  Then,  to  my 
amazement,  the  Chinese  servant  spoke. 

"Ye-es.  Ple-ase!  Goo-by,"  she  cried,  as 
I  rode  away. 

Late  that  afternoon  I,  half-awakened  from 
the  deep  sleep  induced  by  the  remedies  that 
had  routed  my  headache,  lay  stupidly  lis- 
tening to  a  partially  comprehended  murmur 
of  voices  from  the  screened  porch  almost  out- 
side my  window;  the  big  suite,  next  to  my 
room,  had  evidently  just  been  taken. 

A  woman's  voice  sounded.  "I've  gone 
over  and  over  this,  Jim,"  she  said  with  a 
tired  sigh.  "You  know  that  I  love  you,  and 


52       Between  the  Treaty  Ports 

that  this  separation  will  be  almost  more  than 
I  can  bear.  I  dare  not  think  of  the  days  ahead 
for  fear  I  won't  have  the  courage  to  let  you 
go.  But  you've  been  out  here  for  two  years, 
seeing  nothing  but  frumpy  women — of  course, 
I  seem  attractive  compared  with  them ! 

:f Things  in  England  may  have  changed 
— go  home  and  see !  If,  after  you've  seen, 
you  cable  for  me,  I'll  go  to  you — the  happiest 
woman  in  the  world.  But  I  don't  want  hap- 
piness that  doesn't  belong  to  me  fairly." 

She  paused;  and,  as  no  answer  came,  went 


on. 

M 


I  believe  you  love  me,  and  that  our  sepa- 
ration will  be  a  short  one/'  she  said  gently; 
"but  when  you  tell  me  that  we  can  be  married 
in  Yokohama,  and  that  no  one  in  England 
will  ever  question  who  I  was — if  I  hail  from 
a  remote  enough  place  in  America — I  know 
better  and  so  do  you  ! 

"Some  one  from  San  Francisco  would 
meet  me  again.  First,  there  would  be  a 
whisper;  then  people  would  stop  seeing  us 
and  asking  us  to  parties,  and  would  forget 
to  call.  Then,  if  we  stood  our  punishment 
meekly  for  two  or  three  years,  and  behaved 


Between  the  Treaty  Ports        53 

in  a  chastened  way,  your  relatives  would 
invite  us  to  small  dinners  with  carefully  se- 
lected guests  who  'wouldn't  mind  meeting  us ' ! 

"Could  you  stand  those  probationary 
years — alone  with  me  ? 

"You've  never  been  cut  or  had  to  take 
second  place — and  you'd  hate  and  resent 
it.  I  want  to  trust  you,  Jim,  but  I  know  how 
changeable  you  are ! 

"At  first  you'd  be  defiant  and  independent 
— but  after  a  while  you'd  begin  to  think  that 
all  your  life — the  things  you  have  longed 
for  during  your  stay  out  here — was  spoiled 
because  of  me.  And  when  people  asked  you, 
without  me,  you'd  go ! 

"You  needn't  get  angry.  You  have  too 
much  money — too  great  a  position — for 
women  not  to  run  after  you.  The  world  is 
full  of  women  who  are  fearfully  agile  in  a 
case  like  ours" 

A  man's  voice,  sharp  with  exasperation, 
answered :  "  By  Jove !  if  any  one  had  told 
me  that  I'd  not  only  ask,  but  beg,  a  woman 
to  marry  me — a  woman  who  had — a  woman 
I  didn't  have  to — well !  a  woman  who  lived 
by  her  wits  in  a  Chinese  city,  I'd  jolly  well 


54        Between  the  Treaty  Ports 

have  smashed  their  head,"  he  said.  "Here 
I  offer  you  everything.  I  care  enough  for 
you  that  I  can't  help  offering  them.  What 
do  you  want,  anyhow  ? 

''You'd  love  the  English  places,  Maizie! 
Big  houses,  sloping  lawns,  great  trees,  and 
the  old  flower-gardens — a  blaze  of  color 
against  the  walls  and  hedges." 

She  interrupted  him  sharply. 

"  Yes,  and  when  our  great-grandson  showed 
visitors  around  the  picture-gallery  he'd  get 
them  past  my  portrait  as  quickly  as  possible  ! 
Can't  you  see  him?"  Her  voice  rose.  "I 
won't  spoil  your  beautiful  future,  Jim !  I 
can  bear  staying  here  until  you  really  know 
your  mind;  but  if  I  went  with  you  now,  and 
you  tired  of  me,  and  filled  your  life  with  things 
that  left  me  out,  and  stopped  caring  for 
me " 

His  voice  was  sulky.  "I  won't  admit  that 
I  could  stop  caring  for  you.  I've  tried  hard 
enough !  For  days  after  you  told  me  that 
you'd  lived  with  a  Chinaman — I  swore  I'd 
never  see  you  again.  But  I  can't  help  my- 
self— and  if  I  should  ?  You'd  have  three 
topping  houses,  and  position  and  money " 


Between  the  Treaty  Ports       55 

"My  house  and  position  here  suit  me," 
said  the  woman  dryly.  "As  for  money — I 
have  more  than  I  can  possibly  spend.  Look 
at  my  pearls — these  are  only  part  of  them ! 
My  clothes  come  from  Paris;  my  bronzes, 
paintings,  and  porcelains  are  finer  than  the 
viceroy's;  and  the  money  that  bought  them 
I  made  by  my  own  efforts." 

"Yes — but  how?"  he  muttered. 

"Honestly!"  she  answered  with  sharp  de- 
fiance. "No  one  has  ever  tried  to  say  that 
I  wasn't  honest.  And  I  can't  begin  to  spend 
all  I  earn — it  rolls  in !" 

"You  talk  like  an  idiot,"  said  the  man 
roughly.  "Either  you  can't  or  won't  under- 
stand what  I'm  offering  you.  If  I'm  willing 
to  take  my  chances  with  the  future,  you 
ought  to  be." 

His  voice  changed.  "Be  reasonable, 
Maizie !  I  can't  understand  you,  but  I  know 
that  you're  too  fine  to  be  hurt  by  apparent 
circumstances  here.  I  love  you  because  of 
qualities  I  realize  you  have — and  can't  de- 
scribe. If  you  only  knew  how  I've  pictured 
you  in  my  house — and  coming  along  the 
garden  walks.  I'm  thankful  that  my  term 


56        Between  the  Treaty  Ports 

of  duty  here  is  over  so  that  I  can  take  you 
away." 

There  was  a  sound  of  muffled  sobbing. 

"Don't  cry,  Maizie.  This  time  to-morrow 
we'll  have  sailed.  Et-san  can  send  your  things 
after  you.  We'll  wait  for  them  in  Japan  and 
go  home  by  the  Trans-Siberian,"  he  said. 

"No,"  answered  the  woman  unevenly; 
"don't  try  to  make  me  change  my  mind. 
But  if  you  send  for  me  I'll  come." 

"You'll  never  get  the  chance,"  said  the 
man  with  grim  emphasis.  "Why  do  you 
want  to  stay  behind  ?  Is  there  some  one 
else  here?  I  might  have  guessed  it!"  he 
added  with  sudden  suspicion. 

She  answered  with  spirit,  "You  know  that's 
not  true!"  while  exasperation  grew  in  her 
voice.  "Can't  you  understand  what  I'm 
trying  to  save  you  from  ?  Go  back  among 
your  own  people — your  mother,  your  sisters — 
get  a  perspective  on  me,  on  my  life;  then, 
if  you  still  love  me,  say  so." 

The  man's  voice  was  ugly  with  jealousy. 

"Of  course  there's  some  one  else!  I've 
been  a  fool,"  he  said. 

"Don't,  Jim,"  pleaded  the  woman.    "I'm 


Between  the  Treaty  Ports       57 

trying  to  do  right  by  you — to  the  best  of 
my  judgment — "  Her  voice  broke  in  a  sob. 
"If  I  only  knew!  To-day  on  Queen's  Road 
I  saw  some  jugglers  do  the  rope  trick.  When 
they  were  high  in  the  air  they  stopped  and 
looked  back  at  us,  and  I  wished  with  all  my 
heart  that  I  could  get  far  enough  away  from 
the  muddle  of  my  life  to  see  what  is  really 
large.  I've  made  so  many  mistakes.  I've 
been  so  bitterly  unhappy.  Your  home,  the 
peace  and  security  of  the  life  you  offer  me, 
seem  like  heaven  !  But  they  must  be  heaven 
for  you,  too.  I  must  be  sure !  What  was 
that  ?"  she  whispered. 

"Some  one  in  the  next  room,"  answered 
the  man  coldly,  as  I,  aghast  at  my  eaves- 
dropping, hastily  pulled  down  the  window. 

The  Asiatic  squadron  cruised  unapproach- 
ably along  the  Korean  coast  that  summer, 
while  I,  not  being  able  to  follow  them,  spent 
the  hot  weather  in  the  mountains  of  Japan. 
October  found  me  in  Hong-Kong  again — en 
route  for  the  Philippines,  where  the  battle- 
cruisers  were  already  engaged  in  the  autumn 
target-practice. 


58       Between  the  Treaty  Ports 

"There  won't  be  a  passenger-steamer  to 
Manila  for  six  days,"  the  agent  told  me,  and, 
the  thirst  for  Oriental  sightseeing  still  waxing 
strong,  I  left  directions  for  my  mail  to  be 
forwarded  in  care  of  the  American  consul  and 
went  up  the  river  to  "see  Canton." 

"What  are  the  most  typical  Chinese 
sights  ?"  I  asked  the  consul  when  I  went 
for  my  letters. 

He  suggested  various  temples  and  the 
nine-storied  pagoda. 

"This  isn't  my  first  native  city.  I  spent 
last  spring  in  the  Yangtze  valley,"  I  reminded 
him. 

"The  feather-jewelry  makers,"  volunteered 
the  consul,  mentally  searching  for  novelties. 

"I  want  to  see  a  collection  of  porcelains, 
or  an  old  garden,  or  an  official's  yamen,"  I 
admitted  modestly. 

The  consul  ran  his  hand  through  his  hair. 
"The  sophisticated  tourist — heaven  help 
me!"  he  said,  and  hesitated.  "I  don't  know 
why  not — now,"  he  mused. 

"How  would  you  like  to  see  an  A-number- 
one  gambling-house — that  is  a  palace?"  he 
asked. 


Between  the  Treaty  Ports       59 

"Why — yes,"  I  agreed,  without  enthu- 
siasm. 

The  consul  was  nettled.  "Hundreds  of 
people  would  jump  at  the  chance,"  he  said 
shortly.  "If  you  had  come  a  month  earlier 
— or  later — you  couldn't  get  in  for  love  or 
money,  and  neither  could  I !  No  foreigner 
was  welcome,  but  Americans  were  absolutely 
debarred.  There's  been  a  murder  there; 
I  have  to  go  officially  to  inventory  some 
things  and  to  question  the  servants  again." 

"Why  didn't  they  want  Americans?"  I 
asked  with  resentment. 

The  consul  shook  his  head.  "I  never 
knew,"  he  said.  "I  tried  going  there  when 
I  first  came  here — took  a  party  of  tourists 
one  afternoon — Americans  of  importance  they 
were.  Well,  say !  It  wasn't  necessary  to 
order  us  out;  those  people  fairly  fell  over 
each  other  getting  away,  and  the  principal 
tourist  said  he  wouldn't  have  gone  for  a  thou- 
sand dollars — if  he'd  known !  He  seemed 
pretty  upset  and  inclined  to  be  snappy," 
commented  the  consul. 

"  Didn't  you  tell  them  that  they  were  going 
to  a  gambling-house  ?  Perhaps  it  recalled 


60       Between  the  Treaty  Ports 

unpleasant  experiences  at  home;  I've  read 
of  several  voluntarily  nomadic  careers  caused 
by  the  investigators,"  I  said,  smothering  a 
yawn. 

"Maybe  so,"  ruminated  the  consul  dubi- 
ously. 

"Anyhow,  unless  I  can  get  a  clew  or  pick 
a  flaw  in  one  of  the  servant's  stories,  I'll  have 
to  turn  the  place  over  to  the  old  woman  men- 
tioned in  the  will.  The  interpreter  and  I 
are  going  there  now;  you  can  come  if  you 
like.  The  place  is  worth  seeing,"  added  the 
consul. 

Conversation  between  ricksha  passengers 
in  a  crowded  Chinese  city  is  impossible,  so 
I  succumbed  uninterruptedly  to  the  fascina- 
tions of  color,  outline,  and  sound  as  we  jogged 
along  the  narrow  streets  with  their  enticing 
open  shops  and  swinging,  vivid,  scarlet  and 
gold  sign-boards,  or  passed  the  incense- 
haunted  stones  of  temple  compounds,  over 
which  the  great  bell's  reverberations  echoed 
ceaselessly;  but  I  evidently  showed  my  dis- 
appointment when  we  drew  up  before  a 
narrow  door  in  the  long  blank  wall. 

The    consul    laughed.      "Don't    judge    a 


Between  the  Treaty  Ports       61 

Chinese  palace  by  the  hole  that  you  get  into 
it  by,"  he  advised,  and  knocked  with  vigor. 

The  gate  opened  silently  and  closed  with 
uncanny  quickness  behind  us.  Ahead  a 
white,  marble-paved  courtyard  ended  in  the 
vermilion  lacquer  of  a  great  door.  Above 
rose  a  confusion  of  massive,  curving  eaves, 
on  which  bronze  dragons  writhed  and  twisted. 
Only  the  shrieks  of  coolies  and  venders  in 
the  street  outside  echoed  across  the  brooding 
stillness  and  stirred  the  glossy  leaves  of  the 
tall,  blossoming  gardenia  hedges,  while  from 
his  perch  by  the  steps  a  gaudy  tethered 
macaw  blinked  solemnly  in  the  heavy  sun- 
shine. 

"Oh!"  I  cried  with  fervor.  "I  wouldn't 
have  missed  this  for  anything." 

The  lacquered  door  swung  ponderously 
back;  several  servants  appeared.  We  went 
down  a  wide  hallway  paved  with  marble  to 
where  a  heavy  carved  screen  shielded  a  door- 
way. The  consul  spoke  to  an  official  stationed 
there  and  beckoned  us  into  the  great  apart- 
ment beyond. 

"Alice  same-ee  gammel-ing-room,"  an- 
nounced the  interpreter. 


62        Between  the  Treaty  Ports 

"How  beautiful !"  I  cried  with  enthusiasm. 

The  room  was  panelled  in  soft  fawn-colored 
wood  that  shone  like  dull  velvet  between 
brocade-mounted  paintings  by  masters  of 
the  T'ang  and  Sung  dynasties.  Bronze  in- 
cense-burners and  sacrificial  wine-jugs  alter- 
nated with  monochrome  bowls  on  the  old 
lacquered  chests  and  cabinets.  Long  strips 
of  mellow  embroideries  framed  the  windows 
and  repeated  the  color  of  the  great  sheaves 
of  lemon  lilies  and  feathery  eremurus  massed 
in  high  jars  on  the  wide  sills.  Only  the  long, 
bare  teakwood  table  made  a  discordant  note. 

The  consul  nodded.  :< You'd  know  that 
a  person  who  could  own  and  run  a  place  like 
this  would  be  a  mark  for  some  one !  One 
of  the  servants  must  have  done  it,  but  I  can't 
catch  them  in  a  single  misstatement.  The 
interpreter  will  question  them  again  to-day. 
And  we  have  to  verify  the  list  of  these 
antiques — they  are  willed  to  a  man  in  Eng- 
land. Do  you  want  to  walk  through  the 
place  while  we  are  busy  ?  And  if  you  see  an 
old  Chinese  woman  servant  ask  her  a  few 
questions.  She's  the  one  to  whom  the  place 
is  left — and  I  think  she's  the  guilty  person ! 


Between  the  Treaty  Ports       63 

She  looks  it — but  sticks  to  her  story,"  com- 
plained the  consul. 

I  hesitated.  "You  spoke  of  a  murder. 
Where  is  the — body?"  I  asked. 

"Buried — two  weeks  ago,"  stated  the  con- 
sul, and  turned  to  the  interpreter. 

Like  all  old  Chinese  palaces  this  was  on 
one  floor;  behind  the  large  room  smaller 
rooms,  furnished  with  magnificent  antiques, 
large  bare  tables,  and  heavy  chairs,  opened 
on  a  long,  wide  hall  that  ended  at  a  massive 
door  hinged  and  studded  with  copper.  It 
was  locked. 

I  knocked,  waited,  and  knocked  again, 
feeling  all  the  time  that  some  one,  unseen, 
was  watching  me.  Then  came  a  little  sharp 
whisper  of  surprise  and  the  sound  of  a  heavy 
bolt  being  slipped  back.  The  door  opened 
and  a  Chinese  woman  stood  against  the  light 
from  windows  beyond. 

I  felt  abashed  and  apologetic.  "I'm  so 
interested — may  I  see  these  rooms  ?"  I  fal- 
tered. 

The  woman  nodded,  and  stood  aside  to 
let  me  through  the  nearest  door  into  a  small 
library  furnished  with  simple  chintz-covered 


64       Between  the  Treaty  Ports 

furniture.  Around  the  walls  the  book-filled 
shelves  rose  to  the  ceiling,  and  the  overflow 
was  piled  on  desk  and  tables.  Psychologists, 
philosophers,  realists — peopling  an  entire 
world  of  books.  And  all  in  English! 

The  dining-room  came  next;  then  a  tiny 
bedroom,  bare  as  a  cell,  with  its  clean,  painted 
walls  and  floor. 

The  Chinese  woman  had  followed  me  and, 
as  I  looked  up  from  the  puzzling  effort  of 
forming  a  mental  picture  of  the  dead  owner 
of  this  amazing  house,  I  found  her  black, 
unwavering  eyes  fixed  on  my  face. 

Where  had  I  seen  her  before  ? 

As  if  in  reply  to  my  unspoken  question 
she  opened  the  door  of  a  closet  behind  her 
and  beckoned  to  me.  I  followed  her,  and 
there,  first  in  the  orderly  row  of  garments, 
hung  the  lovely,  unforgotten  gray  dress  of 
my  admiration  on  that  May  day  in  Hong- 
Kong  ! 

"Why,  yes!"  I  cried.  "And  you — your 
name  is  Et-san !  I  remember,  because  it 
was  the  first  Chinese  woman's  name  that  I 
had  ever  heard !  And  your  mistress — where 
is  she?" 


Between  the  Treaty  Ports       65 

For  answer  she  hid  her  face  against  her 
arm,  while  the  difficult  tears  of  an  tmweeping 
race  stained  the  sleeve  of  her  blue  linen  coat. 

The  consul's  voice  sounded  in  the  distance. 

"There  really  isn't  much  that  /  can  do," 
he  complained  in  loud  discontent. 

Quickly  the  Chinese  woman  lowered  her 
arm  and,  turning,  opened  a  narrow  drawer. 
From  beneath  the  neat  piles  of  gloves  she 
took  a  small  book,  bound  in  limp  leather, 
and  put  it  into  my  hand. 

"You  take — keep — allee  time,"  she  whis- 
pered. "My  missee — talk  and  laugh — with 
you!  Very  lone-lee  and  sad — my  missee. 
You  keep!" 

The  book  was  under  my  arm  when  the 
consul  came  into  the  room  and  glanced  at 
the  open  door. 

"Now  isn't  that  like  a  woman !  Comes  to 
see  a  Chinese  palace  and  ends  up  at  a  closet 
full  of  French  dresses,"  he  said  with  disgust, 
and  turned  to  the  servant. 

"I'll  never  believe  you  hadn't  a  hand  in 
this  murder — but  I  can't  prove  it,"  he  said 
severely. 

She  did  not  answer. 


66       Between  the  Treaty  Ports 

"I  suppose  the  steward  and  you  will  try 
to  go  on  running  this  establishment — juggle 
it  around  between  you  ?"  asked  the  consul. 

She  gave  me  a  startled  glance.  "I — no 
can — juggle,"  she  answered  sharply.  Then, 
as  we  turned  and  passed  out,  she  bowed,  her 
eyes,  heavy  with  tears,  fixed  on  my  face. 
"Goo-by,"  said  Et-san,  with  a  little  sob. 

Hardly  waiting  for  the  door  to  be  closed 
behind  us,  I  faced  the  consul  and  voiced  my 
bewilderment. 

"You  said  that  this  was  a  Chinese  gam- 
bling-house— what  is  the  American  woman 
who  wears  those  dresses  doing  here?"  I  de- 
manded. 

The  consul  seemed  surprised.  "Doing 
here?  Nothing — at  present!"  he  answered 
with  dry  emphasis.  "When  she  was  here 
she  ran  this  gambling-house,"  he  added. 

I  caught  my  breath.  "'Was  here'?  What 
do  you  mean  ?"  I  asked  sharply. 

"She's  dead — murdered,  /  think,"  answered 
the  consul. 

"But  how  did  she  get  here  ?"  I  questioned 
abruptly. 

We  had  reached  the  door  of  the  large  gam- 


Between  the  Treaty  Ports       67 

bling-room  and  stood  looking  in.  The  heavy 
scent  of  the  lilies  blended  suddenly  with  the 
waves  of  noise  from  the  street  outside,  and 
the  consul  raised  his  voice  to  answer. 

"She  came  here,  eight  or  ten  years  ago, 
with  a  rich  old  Chinaman  who  had  made  his 
pile  in  San  Francisco.  He  left  her  this  place 
when  he  died,"  said  the  consul  with  a  reminis- 
cent attention  to  details.  "She  was  the 
prettiest  woman  I  have  ever  seen — but  hard 
as  iron  and  cold  as  a  stone !  I  tried  once 
to  ask  her  a  few  friendly,  personal  questions. 
She  never  answered;  just  looked  at  me  and, 
after  I'd  repeated  the  questions  a  couple  of 
times,  I  realized  that  she  wanted  me  to  mind 
my  own  business,"  asserted  the  consul  with 
grieved  amazement. 

"  But  a  young  American  woman !  How 
could  she  run  this  gambling-house  alone?" 
I  cried. 

The  consul  pointed  toward  the  long  table. 
"She  sat  at  one  end  of  that — a  revolver  in 
reach  of  each  hand  !  When  any  one  tried  to 
cheat  or  argue — !  Only  rich  Chinese  were 
admitted.  Of  course  I  don't  approve  of  gam- 
bling," said  the  consul  virtuously,  "but  if 


68       Between  the  Treaty  Ports 

an  American  is  going  to  do  a  thing  I  like  it 
done  like  this !" 

"Why  do  you  think  she  was  murdered  by 
the  servants  ?"  I  asked,  remembering  Et-san's 
mute  misery. 

The  consul  was  instantly  belligerent.  "She 
was  shot  with  one  of  her  own  gambling-table 
revolvers,'*  he  said.  "The  servants  say  it 
was  still  in  her  hand  when  they  found  her. 
But  she  came  to  me  a  while  ago  about  her 
will — left  everything  to  that  servant  you 
were  talking  to !  You'll  never  get  me  to  be- 
lieve that  the  old  woman  didn't  know  that 
she'd  profit  by  getting  her  mistress  out  of 
the  way,"  asserted  the  consul  with  irritable 
emphasis  as  he  made  for  the  door. 

In  the  courtyard  the  interpreter  stopped 
us.  "Mail  come — England  side.  One  piece 
—for  dead  missee,"  he  said,  holding  up  a 
letter  with  a  London  postmark  and  the  ad- 
dress "United  Service  Club"  on  opposite 
corners. 

The  consul  glanced  at  it.  "Take  that  to 
the  British  consul  and  have  him  return  it  to 
the  sender,"  he  ordered. 

But  he  did  not  notice  the  little  book  held 


Between  the  Treaty  Ports       69 

close  under  my  arm  because,  as  we  went 
through  the  narrow  entrance,  we  found  the 
street  blocked  by  a  dense  crowd,  and  the 
consul,  returning  from  a  protracted  view  of 
the  cause  of  the  congestion,  urged  me  to  stop 
and  watch  the  performance. 

"Some  wandering  jugglers — the  best  I've 
ever  seen !  You  shouldn't  miss  them,"  he 
declared  with  enthusiasm.  But  I,  pleading 
a  proclivity  for  headache,  refused,  and  left 
him  standing  enthralled,  while  above  his 
head  the  jugglers,  hand  over  hand,  started 
on  the  initial  stage  of  their  unexplainable 
achievement — the  rope  trick. 

I  have  it  yet — the  little  book,  holding  on 
its  small  pages  the  records  of  quaint,  prepos- 
terous transactions — procedures  filled  with 
so  guileful  an  ingenuousness  that  they  leave 
you  divided  between  amazement  and  amuse- 
ment. Business  transactions;  itemized  lists 
of  bribery  and  "squeeze"  moneys  paid  to 
the  dignitaries  of  the  district — all  the  great 
names  of  the  province  flaunted  across  the 
narrow  pages. 

And  also,  in  scattered,  isolated  paragraphs, 
it  holds  the  meagre  history  of  a  soul's  growth 


70        Between  the  Treaty  Ports 

from  the  days  when  comfort  and  leisure  were 
sufficient,  to  the  hour  when,  through  suffering, 
her  dazed  mind  came  at  last  face  to  face  with 
its  ordeal  and  cowered  unreasoningly  before 
the  engulfing  loneliness  of  the  years  that 
stretched  ahead. 
The  first  entry  was  made  seven  years  ago. 

Cheong-li  died  to-day.  Apri1'  I9'a 

How  curious  it  is  that  what  seemed  the  final  step 
of  my  downfall  is  to  end  in  wealth,  leisure,  and  inde- 
pendence !  I  am  to  take  over,  and  run,  this  gambling- 
house  for  myself.  Cheong-li  secured  it  to  me  months 
ago.  I  am  unspeakably  grateful  to  him. 

I  am  ordering  books,  and  books,  and  books ! 

January,  1911. 

I  wonder  if  my  mother  ever  thinks  of  me  ?  My 
cheap,  silly  mother !  All  my  life,  as  a  child,  was  spent 
with  servants,  while  my  mother  went  from  luncheons 
to  bridge  parties,  from  dinners  to  the  theatre.  Any- 
thing— anywhere — that  could  keep  her  from  her  real 
duties  at  home,  and  stand  between  her  and  one  mo- 
ment of  honest  self-communion;  and  always  bills — 
and  lack  of  money. 

Only  when  I — a  young,  inexperienced  girl — attracted 
the  admiration  of  a  man  who  was  entirely  unsuitable 
in  every  way  but  a  financial  one,  did  she  ever  show 
any  interest  in  me. 

And  after  the  inevitable  crash  I  never  thought  of 


Between  the  Treaty  Ports       71 

appealing  to  her.  How  could  I  expect  her  to  understand 
my  running  away  from  a  man  who  could  provide  me 
with  automobiles  and  money  to  spend  on  all  sorts  of 
amusements  ?  How  preposterous  she  must  have  con- 
sidered me  in  objecting  to  his  diversions  when  /  was 
so  amply  provided  for! 

December,  1912. 

The  Viceroy  entertained  a  party  here  last  evening. 
I  was  notified  that  he  would  honor  my  establishment 
and  a  room  was  made  ready.  The  Viceroy's  losings 
were  small;  but  his  friends,  among  them,  parted  with 
three  thousand  taels. 

Early  this  morning  a  coolie  came,  bringing  a  care- 
fully worded  message  which,  when  deciphered  by  my 
steward,  disclosed  the  Viceroy's  unabashed  request  for 
the  money  his  friends  had  "accidentally  left  behind." 

Added  to  this  my  diplomatic  steward  advised  me 
to  contribute  an  extra  thousand  as  a  mark  of  apprecia- 
tion for  the  honor  shown  me  by  his  excellency. 

And  yet  they  say  China  is  carelessly  governed  !  I 
am  glad  that  there  is  only  one  Viceroy  allowed  to  each 
province. 

May,  1913. 

The  steward  was  right.  What  might  have  been  a 
serious  blow  to  us  was  averted  by  the  Viceroy's  inter- 
vention. 


It  is  pleasant  to  feel  that  when  you  shut  a  door  no 
one  has  a  right  to  open  it. 

But  why  is  it  that  success  is  so  disappointing  ?    For 


72        Between  the  Treaty  Ports 

the  first  time  in  my  life  I  can  do  as  I  like;  I  have  hun- 
dreds of  books;  more  money  than  I  can  use.  And  now 
I  find  it  tiresome  to  read  or  spend !  Et-san  lectures 
daily  on  my  need  of  new  dresses. 

February,  1914. 

Books  are  cheerless  things;  when  I  read  I  am  in- 
creasingly disillusioned.  All  of  them  tell  you  of  mis- 
takes and  their  bitter  aftermath — but  not  of  a  better 
ordering  of  life  and  the  avoidance  of  errors. 

And  for  life's  achievement  I  find  in  them  but  two 
ideals:  The  dash  for  the  open  sea — The  Great  Ad- 
venture !  Or  the  peace  of  a  landlocked  harbor. 

I  will  not  have  either. 

November,  1914. 

I  have  never  known  affection;  it  must  be  a  warm 
and  comforting  thing  to  gather  close  to  you.  The 
shadow  of  a  great  rock 

I  have  only  known  love. 

November,  1914. 
Was  it  even  love  that  I  knew  ? 

May,  1915. 

Without  asking  permission  that  blundering  Amer- 
ican consul  brought  a  crowd  of  tourists  here  to-day; 
it  was  in  the  afternoon  and  the  unsuspecting  gate- 
coolie  let  them  in.  My  ex-husband  and  his  newest 
wife  were  in  the  party  and  their  embarrassment  was 
diverting;  but  such  a  thing  must  not  happen  again. 

June,  1915. 

If  I  could  live  my  life  over  I  would  not  leave  my 
husband.  Youth  finds  unfaithfulness  and  disillusion 


Between  the  Treaty  Ports       73 

intolerable — while  experience  is  only  amazed  that  it 
could  be  deceived  again — and  laughs  at  its  own 
credulity. 

July,  1915. 

All  life — excepting  that  of  civilized  man  and  a  few 
animals  temporarily  domesticated  for  his  use — ends 
in  tragedy.  The  day  that  the  most  ferocious  lion  passes 
the  zenith  of  his  strength  he  goes  down  before  some 
stronger  animal;  the  lack  of  humanity  with  which  a 
savage  treats  a  wounded  or  stricken  comrade  has  al- 
ways been  a  matter  for  criticism  among  observant 
travellers. 

Outside  of  civilization  nothing  dies  a  natural  death. 

But  who  is  wise  enough  to  know  just  where  civiliza- 
tion begins — and  ends  ? 

November,  1915. 

Englishmen  are,  of  all  men,  the  most  amused,  in- 
terested, and  attracted  by  that  quality  in  a  woman 
which  they  call  pluck. 

My  running  this  gambling-house  has  struck  one  of 
them  as  an  amazingly  sporting  proposition. 

April,  1916. 

Never  before  has  it  been  as  lovely  here  as  it  is  this 
spring.  I  neither  read  nor  write. 

June,  1916. 
Jim  sailed  for  England  yesterday. 

July,  1916. 

I've  been  fretting  because  I  am  idle.  To-day  I  ar- 
ranged with  workmen  for  designs  for  a  large  wing. 
I  ordered  some  dresses  from  Paris — saw  an  old  paint- 
ing that  Huang  has  for  sale. 


74       Between  the  Treaty  Ports 

July,  1916. 

Of  all  cheats  love  is  the  worst !  What  is  it  ?  Can 
you  see,  or  touch,  or  hear  it  ?  And  the  pitiful,  futile 
gains  of  love,  what  are  they  ?  The  intonation  of  a 
voice — a  smile — a  whispered  word  !  For  these  veriest 
trifles  we  forget  all  else,  to  gather,  as  a  reward  for  our 
pursuit,  a  dull  ache  of  heart  and  mind — and  nothing 
else! 

August,  1916. 

/  did  expect  you  to  write — but  the  mails  have  come 
in  from  Shanghai,  Kobe,  Yokohama,  Darien,  and  Lon- 
don— many  times.  I  know,  now,  that  I  never  expected 
you  to  take  me  at  my  word.  I  overestimated  my  power 
over  you  by  immeasurable  miles. 

Knowing  you  as  I  did,  Jim,  I  am  infuriated  that  I 
cannot  rid  myself  of  this  degrading  sense  of  loss.  Al- 
ready, no  doubt,  you  are  wondering  at  your  amazing 
recklessness,  and  thanking  your  patron  saint  that  I 
hadn't  sense  enough  to  take  advantage  of  my  oppor- 
tunities. 

Truly — a  man  loses  his  idea  of  proportion  in  the 
Orient — is  it  not  so,  Jim  ? 

How  pleasant  a  belief  in  idols  must  be !  One  could 
beat  their  fists  against  the  pedestals  of  bronze  or  stone 
or  lacquer  gods  and  be  greatly  comforted  thereby ! 

I  know  that  the  ruin  of  my  life  is  of  my  own  making 
— and  I  can  neither  implore — nor  blame. 

Did  you  ever  picture  to  yourself  my  life  here,  Jim  ? 
Even  with  high  walls,  I  can  never  forget  that  I  am  in 


Between  the  Treaty  Ports       75 

the  centre  of  a  Chinese  city,  and  the  noise  of  it  beats 
like  a  monstrous  pulse  through  all  the  hours  of  my 
day.  Sometimes  it  is  the  shrieks  of  venders — the  shrill 
command  of  a  mandarin's  bearers  and  coolies  clearing 
the  way  before  his  chair — the  wail  of  hired  mourners 
in  a  funeral  procession — the  hopeless  call  of  men  stag- 
gering under  crushing  loads;  and  above  it  all  the  echo- 
ing boom  of  the  temple-bell,  and  the  clanging  crash 
of  the  priest's  cymbals — shattering  the  heavy  air  like 
splintering  glass 

At  night — before  me,  around  me — the  monotony  of 
clicking  dice — the  hideous  wasp-like  whirring  of  the 
wheel 

/  am  so  tired.  I  long  for  deep  quiet — and  never  find 
it.  How  can  I  bear  the  long  years — that  stretch  ahead  ? 


August,  1916. 

You  will  never  know  how  near  to  yielding  I  was, 
when  you  spoke  of  your  English  gardens !  Only  by 
pulling  you  away  from  the  subject  could  I  go  on. 

I  can  see  them  now !  Daffodils  and  hyacinth,  lilacs, 
and  iris — yellow  and  purple,  against  the  old  gray  walls. 
Shady  rock-gardens,  with  maidenhair  ferns;  hovering 
butterflies  and  blue  larkspur;  darting  dragon-flies; 
the  drowsy  hum  of  bees;  the  cold,  sweet  fragrance 
of  Madonna  lilies,  ghostlike  in  the  moonlight;  the 
white  sweep  of  rain  scattering  the  roses.  And  larks — 
singing  of  endless  summers — for  how  are  they  to  guess 
that  summer  is  soon  over  ? 

I  never  wanted  your  houses  or  money — but  most 
deeply  I  longed  for  your  gardens. 


76       Between  the  Treaty  Ports 

August,  1916. 

Why,  if  money  is  so  easily  plentiful  to  me,  do  I  not 
buy  and  enjoy  an  English  garden  ? 

Because,  even  to  myself,  I  am  a  liar! 

The  flowers  would  be  just  a  background  for  you; 
the  old  walks  a  pathway  bringing  you  back  to  me. 
I  am  hungry  for  the  sight  of  your  face  and  the  sound 
of  your  voice. 

September,  1916. 

Poor  old  Et-san  cannot  understand  why  I  spend 
no  more  week-ends  in  Hong-Kong.  She  assures  me 
that  the  steward  manages  well  in  my  absence,  and 
tries  to  bribe  me  by  promises  of  chance  meetings  with 
a  pleasant  American  woman  I  talked  with.  And  in 
the  back  of  her  stumbling,  devious  mind  Et-san  blames 
the  change  to  the  machinations  of  some  jugglers  we 
saw — that  day. 

•  ••••••• 

The  Chinese  are  the  greatest  gamblers  in  the  world; 
but  when  Cheong-li  and  I  started  this  place  I  made 
the  rigid  law  that  no  one  should  be  allowed  to  play 
who  could  not  afford  to  lose.  And  I  really  believed 
that  such  a  rule  could  be  applied  and  enforced ! 

Now  I  look  with  sick  distaste  at  my  paintings,  my 
clothes,  and  my  books.  They  are  mine — but  at  what 
cost  to  some  spendthrift  who,  perhaps,  stumbled  blindly 
through  my  door — into  the  night. 

September,  1916. 

At  dawn  this  morning,  when  the  last  table  was 
cleared  and  I  had  dragged  myself  to  my  room,  I  sat 


Between:  the  Treaty  Ports       77 

by  the  window  and  watched  the  light  slowly  grow  in 
the  sky  behind  the  hillside  pagoda — and  realized  quite 
suddenly  and  clearly  that  I  need  not  go  any  farther. 

How  stupid — how  unbelievably  stupid  I  have  been, 
not  to  know — that  I  need  not  suffer,  or  go  groping 
on 

Every  night,  I  have  sat  with  the  keys  to  my  de- 
liverance at  my  hand — and  never  noticed !  It  is  too 
funny ! 

I  laughed — until  Et-san  awakened,  and  scurried  in 
to  look  at  me. 

September,  1916. 

I  have  put  my  house  in  order  to-day,  with  the  mak- 
ing of  my  will;  but  I  cannot  think  of  any  way  by  which 
I  could  give  people  back  their  money.  Perhaps  the 
bitterest  thought  connected  with  such  money  is  that 
I  do  not  know  whom  I  may  have  taken  it  from. 


October,  1916. 

I  wonder  if  any  one  else  facing  their  last  day  of  life 
was  ever  as  ludicrous  as  I  ? 

To  the  end  I  am  a  predestined  daughter  of  havoc, 
and  this  day,  which  should  be  given  up  to  great  deeds 
and  thoughts,  is  sliding  by,  punctuated  by  the  usual 
small  annoyances.  Et-san — poor  old  soul — irritates  me 
by  hovering  about.  And  never  before  have  the  street 
venders  shrieked  so  unceasingly — or  the  scent  of  the 
gardenias  seemed  so  deadly  sweet 

I  have  juggled  with  life  and  happiness — and  lost. 


78        Between  the  Treaty  Ports 

When  the  game  is  over  who  cares  to  sit  and  look  at 
the  clean-swept  table  ? 


Will  it  be  cold  ?  Will  I  suffer  ?  Can  I  look  back  ? 
I  should  like  it  to  be  very  still,  and  then — never  any 
more  to  think  or  feel. 

This  was  the  last  entry. 

And  so,  when  I  see  my  waitress  spread  the 
embroidered  table-cloth,  I  find  myself  re- 
membering that  hot  day  in  Hong-Kong  and 
the  jugglers  who  looked  back. 

"It  oughtn't  to  be  possible  for  folks  who 
have  brains  to  waste  their  lives  on  things 
like  this — to  be  used  so  commonlike—  '  says 
Janet,  with  grim  Scotch-Presbyterian  disap- 
proval, as  she  smoothes  the  cloth  into  place. 

"Maybe  they  are  forced  to — by  circum- 
stances," I  suggest. 

But  Janet,  with  a  snort  of  righteous  un- 
belief, relegates  circumstances  to  the  increas- 
ingly large  company  of  conditions  about 
which  she  has  no  curiosity. 

I  am  not  so  sensible.  I  shall  always  wonder 
— what  was  in  that  letter  the  consul  sent  back  ? 


IV 
ORDERS 

CAPTAIN  FRANK  WINDSOR,  U.  S.  Navy, 
paused  outside  the  hospital  entrance  and 
looked  up  toward  the  third  window  in  the 
left  wing.  It  was  the  window  of  his  wife's 
room;  he  knew  it  well.  For  months  now  he 
had  paid  a  daily  visit  that  was  the  bright 
spot  at  the  end  of  her  dragging  afternoons. 
All  the  gossip  of  their  service  friends,  of  the 
department,  of  the  war-time  shifting  of  offi- 
cers, he  stored  up  to  tell  her  when,  after  finish- 
ing his  day's  work,  he  stopped  for  the  visit 
that  was  strictly  limited  in  length  by  the  at- 
tending specialists. 

To-day  was  different.  Luncheon  was  barely 
over;  they  were  to  have  the  whole  after- 
noon together — a  war-time  holiday  !  Captain 
Windsor,  straightening  his  shoulders,  heard 
the  rustle  of  newly  folded  paper  in  his  pocket 
as  he  mounted  the  steps  and  entered  the 
hospital. 

79 


8o  Orders 

On  the  landing  an  interne,  hurrying  past, 
smiled  a  casual  greeting:  "You're  early!" 
he  commented.  At  the  door  of  Mrs.  Wind- 
sor's room  her  nurse,  evidently  waiting  for 
him,  answered  his  questions  evenly:  :'Yes, 
the  doctor  told  me.  .  .  .  No,  he  doesn't 
think  it  can  make  any  difference.  .  .  .  Yes, 
she  expects  you.  .  .  .  No,  we  haven't  told 
her,"  and  added:  "I'll  be  right  at  the  desk  if 
you  want  me.  I  won't  come  unless  you  ring." 

Captain  Windsor  knocked,  and  opened  the 
door.  His  wife  lay,  as  he  so  often  found  her, 
watching  the  flickering  folds  of  a  big  Amer- 
ican flag  on  the  flag-staff  of  the  opposite  build- 
ing. She  turned  at  his  entrance  to  smile 
her  usual  greeting,  and  her  husband,  noticing 
her  lace  boudoir-cap  with  its  ribbon  roses, 
her  bed-jacket  with  its  shining  bows,  spoke 
briskly:  "My!  How  dressed  up  we  are! 
Never  saw  so  much  pink-satin  ribbon  at  once 
before  !"  He  leaned  to  kiss  her.  "How  well 
you  look !  We'll  have  you  climbing  lamp- 
posts before  you  know  it!"  He  laid  the 
square  box  he  carried  on  the  coverlet. 

She  smiled  contentedly,  her  hands  busy 
with  the  package.  "I  do  feel  better,"  she* 


Orders  81 

agreed,  and  added:  " Lilies-of-the-valley — the 
dears  !  This  is  a  real  party !  It's  a  long  time 
since  you  had  a  holiday.  How  did  you  get 
this  half-day  off  ?  When  I'm  well  let's  go 
on  a  month's  leave  and  not  ask  what  things 
cost  or  care  what  we  spend — a  regular  navy 
spree!"  She  laughed  anticipatively.  "We've 
had  all  sorts  of  good  times  in  all  kinds  of 
queer  places  .  .  .  but  always  with  the  dread 
of  orders  hanging  over  us.  Orders  I  My 
whole  navy  life  has  pivoted  around  that 
word  ...  for  fear,  when  the  orders  came, 
they'd  send  you  somewhere  that  I  couldn't 
follow  the  ship  and  be  with  you  in  port.  But 
after  all,  we  haven't  been  separated  much, 
and  we've  been  so  happy!  Tell  me:  Which 
place  do  you  remember  most  pleasantly? 
Where  did  you  have  the  best  time  ?" 

The  captain  did  not  answer.  Mrs.  Windsor, 
seeming  not  to  notice,  went  gayly  on :  "  What 
nice  holidays  we've  had,  Frank !  Do  you 
remember  our  honeymoon  in  Quebec — the 
old  French  city  under  the  hill,  the  queer  car- 
riages with  the  big  springs,  the  quiet  churches  ? 
I  wonder  if  it  has  changed  much  in  twenty- 
five  years  ?" 


82  Orders 

Captain  Windsor  smiled  reminiscently. 
"Not  much,  I  don't  believe.  When  you're 
well  we'll  go  back  and  see,  and  this  time  I'll 
buy  you  whatever  you  want !  How  I  hated 
to  refuse  you  the  little  ermine  collar  you 
liked — but  I  was  afraid  that  if  I  bought 
it  I  wouldn't  have  enough  money  to  pay  our 
hotel  bill.  Even  in  those  days  an  ensign's 
pay  was  small  to  marry  on.  I've  often 
thought  of  that  little  neckpiece  and  hated 
to  remember  that  you  wanted  it,  and  I  had 
to  refuse." 

She  broke  in,  laughing:  "If  I  had  had  the 
sense  I  was  born  with  I  should  have  realized 
how  foolish  that  little  string  of  fur  would 
look  without  the  muff  *o  match !  But  even 
my  foolishness  didn't  >ad  me  to  covet  an 
ermine  muff !  We  weren't  so  wise  at  An- 
napolis !" 

They  laughed  together.  "I  was  quite  im- 
pressed by  my  job  of  junior  instructor  at  the 
Naval  Academy;  when  you  told  me  that  you 
just  couldn't  receive  callers  in  your  bedroom 
at  our  boarding-house — 'no  one  at  your  home 
ever  entertained  visitors  in  a  regular  bedroom' 
— I  felt  that  you  were  perfectly  justified  in 


Orders  83 

your  demand.  We  figured  up  that  we  couldn't 
afford  a  sitting-room;  but  what  did  we  pay 
for  that  folding-bed  ?" 

Mrs.  Windsor  sobered.  "Eighty-nine  dol- 
lars !  And  after  we'd  left  the  store  we  sud- 
denly remembered  that  we  hadn't  even  count- 
ed up  what  our  board  bill  for  the  month 
would  be.  I  was  perfectly  miserable,  and  bit- 
terly conscious  of  being  a  matrimonial  failure 
when  you  turned  accusingly  and  asked  me: 
'Didn't  it  occur  to  you  that  we'd  have  to 
eat?'  I  thought  you  were  cruel!"  affirmed 
Mrs.  Windsor. 

"I  was  a  brute!"  agreed  her  husband; 
"  I  didn't  realize  what  a  fruitful  topic  of  con- 
versation it  was  going  to  be.  Folding-beds 
were  a  novelty  then;  we  showed  every  caller 
how  ours  worked !"  Both  of  them  laughed; 
the  captain  continued  thoughtfully:  "You've 
been  wonderful,  Beth.  Never,  since  those 
first  years,  have  you  let  me  feel  that  you 
wanted  things  that  I  couldn't  give  you; 
you've  adapted  your  needs  to  fit  my  pay. 
Do  you  recall  the  December  that  I  had  been 
plaguing  you  to  tell  me  what  you'd  like  for 
Christmas,  and  you  finally  chose  a  sewing- 


84  Orders 

machine  ?  Old  Rice  was  staying  with  us, 
and  when  he  saw  it  he  remarked:  'What  a 
nice  useful  present !  Give  her  a  wash-board 
and  tub,  next  year!'  What  is  it,  dear? 
Shall  I  call  the  nurse  ?" 

Mrs.  Windsor  shook  her  head.  .  .  .  "All 
right  ...  in  a  second"  .  .  .  she  whispered, 
and  added:  '  .  .  .  No  nurses  .  .  .  wanted 
...  to  spoil  .  .  .  our  holiday.  .  .  .  Besides, 
the  pain  is  ...  much  less  .  .  .  than  it  has 
been.  It  acts  ...  as  though  it  had  grown 
.  .  .  discouraged,  and  was  leaving"  .  .  .  she 
smiled  reassuringly.  "What  awful  Christ- 
mases  we  have  spent !  Do  you  remember 
the  one  aboard  that  quarantined  liner,  at 
the  disinfecting  docks  in  Honolulu  harbor  ? 
And  the  holiday  hula  dance  those  rich  tourists 
invited  us  to  see  ?  I  didn't  dare  glance  toward 
you  when  the  dancers,  clad  in  grass  skirts  and 
carnation  anklets,  pranced  in !  I  never  real- 
ized before  just  how  much  money  would  buy  !" 

"When  I  think  of  the  diseases  we've  had 
a  chance  at,  and  didn't  catch,  I  believe  we 
were  born  to  be  hanged,"  commented  her 
husband.  "  Black  smallpox  up  the  Yangtze— 
I  was  frightened  about  you !  It  was  bad 


Orders  85 

enough  aboard  ship,  without  worrying  over  the 
risks  you  were  running  in  those  Chinese  cities  ! " 
"I  loved  all  of  those  cities !"  asserted  Mrs. 
Windsor  slowly.  "Sometimes,  when  I'm  suf- 
fering a  good  deal,  it  has  helped  me  to  think 
of  those  colorful  days — Kiukiang,  with  her 
grass-grown  city  wall,  crumbling  pagoda,  and 
wide  river  across  the  valley  floor;  the  ruined 
courtyards  and  palaces,  the  irregular  stairs 
to  the  hilltop  shrines,  the  willow  road  to 
Purple  Mountain  at  Nanking;  the  lapis-col- 
ored  tiles  and  marble  pavements,  the  laden 
camels  swinging  along  through  a  haze  of 
golden  dust,  the  vermilion-lacquered  temples 
set  in  bitter-cold,  blue- white  snow  at  Peking; 
and  over  all  the  daily  life  the  slow  booming 
of  temple-bells,  the  movement  and  color  .  .  . 
come  back  to  comfort  me  for  these  .  .  .  gray 
days."  She  paused,  then  hurried  on:  "Will 
you  ever  forget  that  dreadful,  parlorless  hotel 
at  Hankow,  and  the  English  naval  officer 
and  his  wife  who  came  to  call,  late  in  the 
afternoon  ?  I  felt  internationally  disgraced 
when  one  of  the  hotel  servants  came  and  took 
away  all  our  chairs  to  use  around  the  supper- 
table!" 


86  Orders 

Captain  Windsor  laughed.  "Funny  how 
youth  magnifies  trifles;  now  I  can't  even  re- 
call that  officer's  name." 

Mrs.  Windsor,  holding  her  breath,  turned 
painfully  on  her  side.  "I  haven't  forgotten 
a  detail  of  my  solitary  holiday  visit  to  the 
Ming  tombs,"  she  said.  "I  had  come  back 
filled  with  a  sort  of  reverent  awe  of  the  wide, 
lovely  valley,  the  colossal  granite  animals 
bordering  miles  of  avenue  to  the  tomb,  with 
its  golden-yellow  imperial  tiles  all  gleaming 
in  the  slant  sunshine  of  late  afternoon  right 
into  the  midst  of  a  howling,  antiforeign 
mob  of  Chinese.  They  had  hung  one  mis- 
sionary— a  woman — in  an  archway  of  the 
city  gate.  I  had  never  before  known  blank 
fear  until  the  moment  the  mob  turned  on 
me  and  stones  began  to  fall.  But  when  that 
detachment  of  soldiers,  each  holding  a  long 
spear  straight  out  in  front  of  him,  suddenly 
appeared  around  a  bend  in  the  road  and 
charged  into  the  rioters—  Well,  every  per- 
son has  a  right  to  imagine  how  they  prefer 
angels  to  look !  I'll  take  mine  Manchus," 
asserted  Mrs.  Windsor. 

Her    husband    nodded.      "That    was    the 


Orders  87 

year  Old  Rice,  on  a  dare,  rode  his  high- 
wheeled  American  bicycle  on  the  top  of  the 
wall  around  the  Forbidden  City;  all  the 
palace  guards,  thinking  that  the  devil  was 
arriving,  threw  away  their  arms  and,  lying 
down,  covered  their  faces.  By  the  way, 
Beth,  I  had  a  letter  from  Old  Rice  to-day. 
It  was  headed  'At  a  famous  chateau/  and 
he  told  how  the  American  engineers  had 
patched  up  the  old  place  with  corrugated 
iron  and  Georgia  pine — 'effectual,  but  not 
picturesque.'  Rice  said:  'All  around  it  are 
the  graves  of  American  Marines,  many  of 
whom  went  directly  to  France  from  Haiti, 
without  even  a  chance  to  go  home  and  say 
good-by.J  " 

Captain  Windsor  hesitated,  then  went  on: 
"Old  Rice  is  with  the  sailors  who  are  using 
the  big  navy  guns,  mounted  on  railroad-cars, 
for  bombarding.  Fine  job,  Beth  !"  His  voice 
was  enthusiastically  considerate. 

She  raised  a  silencing  hand.  "We're  talk- 
ing about  holidays  and  play;  not  war  and 
work,"  she  reminded  him,  and  added:  "I'm 
still  in  the  Orient!" 

There  was  silence.    Neither  of  them  spoke 


88  Orders 

of  Japan  or  the  tiny,  long-hoped-for  son 
buried  under  the  cryptomerias.  Captain 
Windsor,  remembering,  saw  in  place  of  the 
frail  figure  on  the  narrow  hospital  bed,  a 
young  mother  trying,  with  pathetic  bravery, 
to  fight  down  her  grief  and  make  his  week's 
leave  at  Nikko  less  forlorn.  "  I  never  hear 
the  sound  of  waterfalls  or  smell  the  heavy 
scent  of  those  pink-spotted  lilies  but  it  all 
comes  back,"  he  thought,  and  reached  for 
her  thin  hand  on  the  coverlet. 

Mrs.  Windsor  broke  the  silence.  "We 
didn't  have  many  Philippine  holidays,"  she 
commented.  "I  can't  seern  to  think  of  any 
except  the  afternoon  the  admiral,  you,  and 
I  went  for  a  walk  back  of  Olongapo  and  the 
caribou  chased  us.  It  was  ignominious,  after 
we'd  run  across  the  field,  and  nearly  broken 
our  necks  clambering  over  the  fence,  to  find 
that  the  wretched  animal  was  securely  tied. 
I'll  never  forget  the  gallant  way  the  admiral 
and  you  sprinted  and  didn't  bother  about  me  !" 

"We  didn't  need  to!  You  were  a  full  lap 
ahead  of  us  the  whole  way !  Much  you  cared 
whether  your  poor  husband  was  gored  to 
death  by  a  mad  buffalo.  Yes?  Come  in!" 


Orders  89 

The  house  physician  opened  the  door  and 
glanced  sharply  at  Mrs.  Windsor's  white  face. 
"All  right  ?"  he  questioned.  She  nodded. 

"We're  having  a  half-holiday  together. 
Don't  get  them  very  often  in  war-time," 
vouchsafed  the  captain  genially.  "  She's  look- 
ing much  better?"  his  voice  unconsciously 
begged  assurance. 

The  doctor  smiled.  "Fine  things,  holi- 
days!" he  agreed.  "I  always  spend  mine 
at  other  hospitals  watching  crack  surgeons 
perform  difficult  operations.  Oh,  yes !  I 
know  all  about  the  old  lady  who  kissed  the 
cow!"  he  laughed,  adding,  as  he  closed  the 
door,  "I'll  be  on  this  floor  for  the  rest  of  the 
afternoon." 

Mrs.  Windsor  ignored  the  interruption. 
"Of  all  the  places  we've  lived  I  like  this  city 
the  least,"  she  said  bitterly;  "it's  hotter 
than  Tawi  Tawi  in  the  summer  and  colder 
than  Greenland  in  the  winter!  Since  we've 
been  stationed  here  I've  realized  why,  if 
George  Washington  had  to  live  here,  he 
refused  a  third  term;  but  what  I'll  never 
comprehend  is  why  he  accepted  a  second 


one." 


90  Orders 

"You'd  have  liked  it  if  you  hadn't  been 
ill,"  her  husband  comforted;  "illness  spoils 
any  place." 

Silence  again.  The  captain  gently  patted 
his  wife's  hand  and  cleared  his  throat  to 
speak,  then  changed  his  mind.  Outside  the 
sunlight  was  waning;  the  flag  on  the  building 
opposite  snapped  sharply  in  the  breeze;  a 
friendly  sparrow  hopped  to  the  window-ledge, 
looked  in,  and  flew  away.  From  inside  the 
hospital  came  the  subdued  rumble  of  a  rubber- 
tired  cart  returning  from  the  operating-room, 
and  the  preliminary  rattle  of  dishes  on  supper 
trays. 

Mrs.  Windsor  spoke  reflectively:  ''' Those 
long  months  when  your  ship  was  away  on 
the  cruise  around  the  world  were  the  hardest 
I've  ever  known,"  she  said.  "I  was  in  a  hotel 
on  Brooklyn  Heights,  and  I  had  been  watch- 
ing for  two  hours  when,  quite  suddenly,  just 
at  noon,  the  battleship  slid  into  view  and 
came  down  the  river  and  under  the  Brooklyn 
Bridge,  along  the  Battery,  past  Governor's 
Island.  It  was  sunshiny;  the  band  playing, 
the  deck  blue  with  sailors,  and  all  the  tugs 
and  all  the  ferry-boats,  crowded  with  women 


Orders  91 

whose  husbands  couldn't  be  snatched  away 
at  a  moment's  notice,  were  whistling. 

"When  you  came  back  it  was  winter  at 
Old  Point.  A  great  crowd  had  been  wait- 
ing since  dawn  on  the  sea-wall.  It  was  rain- 
ing hard;  a  gray  fog  over  everything — none 
of  the  glamour  of  that  'first  smudge  of  smoke* 
on  the  horizon.  But  again,  just  at  noon, 
the  first  ship  came  out  of  the  mist,  quite 
near.  And  the  long  months  of  missing  you 
were  over.  .  .  ." 

Captain  Windsor  nodded.  "  I  thought  we'd 
never  get  back,"  he  agreed.  "I  can't  tell  you 
what  it  has  meant  to  me  to  know,  always, 
that  you  were  waiting  for  me.  They've  been 
happy  years,  Beth !" 

She  seemed  not  to  hear.  "I  was  thinking 
of  the  time  that  the  German  division  came 
over  to  visit  America,  and  your  ship  was  de- 
tailed to  help  entertain  them.  Do  you  remem- 
ber the  parties  on  theMoltke  and  our  comments 
on  how  low  and  near  the  water  those  ships 
were  ?  They  kept  awnings  stretched  all  the 
time  they  were  in  port,  but  a  junior  officer 
told  me  that  at  sea,  when  the  awnings  were 
furled,  the  cinders  were  dreadful !  And  they 


92  Orders 

kept  their  turrets  tightly  locked  all  the  time 
that  they  were  here — although  they  expected 
to  be  shown  everything  on  our  ships !" 

"It  isn't  so  long  ago.  If  any  one  had  told 
me  then  that  within  ten  years  we'd  be  fight- 
ing Germany,  I  wouldn't  have  believed  them," 
said  her  husband. 

"I  disliked  some  of  those  officers  on  sight ! 
One  of  them  had  the  crudest  expression; 
I  expect,  when  the  war  is  over,  to  hear  that  he 
framed  the  submarine  orders.  But  the  cap- 
tain— the  one  who  had  such  a  pleasant  face 
and  kindly  voice,  and  who  was  so  proud  of 
the  pictures  of  his  wife  and  daughter — when 
I  remember  him  I  know  that  there  is  at  least 
one  nice  man  in  Germany !"  commented 
Mrs.  Windsor. 

"Must  be  lonesome  for  him,"  remarked 
the  captain,  and  added:  "It'll  be  lonesome 
for  the  rest  of  them  when  this  war  is  over. 
Germans  will  be  the  lonesomest  people  on 
earth!" 

Mrs.  Windsor  agreed:  "The  Germans  can 
go  to  Austria  for  their  much-prized  summer 
vacations,  and  the  Austrians  to  Germany — 
with  side-trips  to  Bulgaria  and  Turkey."  She 


Orders  93 

was  talking  against  the  rising  silence.  She 
had  been  taken  ill  shortly  after  the  Moltkes 
visit;  some  of  the  later  holidays  she  did  not 
care  to  remember. 

Almost  uncannily  her  husband  answered: 
"When  you're  well  we'll  have  some  more 
good  times.  I've  always  wanted  to  see  India 
and  Ceylon,  and  you've  yearned  to  catch  a 
bird  of  paradise  on  his  native  heath — when 
we  learn  where  that  heath  is !  Then  there's 
Java  and  the  gorges  of  the  Yangtze.  Get 
up !  You  untravelled  young  provincial !  A 
whole  world  you've  hardly  touched  is  wait- 
ing for  you !" 

She  did  not  reply;  there  was  silence  in 
the  darkening  room. 

With  determined  bravery  the  captain  spoke: 
"This  is  a  great  war,  Beth.  And  when  you 
think  of  the  loss,  the  suffering,  the  horror 
and  tragedy;  the  unnecessary  brutality  to 
women  and  little  children,  it  makes  you  won- 
der what  punishment  can  be  adequate.  But 
before  we  talk  of  punishment  there's  a  big 
job  to  be  finished  up;  every  man's  work  will 
be  cut  out  for  him,  either  here  or  abroad,  and 
each  man  must  answer  the  call  when  it  comes 


94  Orders 

— personal  feelings  held  in  check — in  the 
struggle  for  a  great  principle.  I've  been 
working  for  months  on  an  organization  that 
is  going  to  be  a  success,  but,  of  course,  we 
can't  put  it  in  force  in  America."  He  fumbled 
at  the  buttons  of  his  blouse.  "Just  think, 
Beth,  they're  going  to  let  me  go  abroad  with 
it  and  if  I  succeed  you'll  be  proud  of  me. 
I've  always  wanted  you  to  be  proud  of  me, 
Beth,  and  now  I  have  my  chance  !  I'm  not 
supposed  to  tell  any  one  what  the  job  is,  but 
I'm  going  to  tell  you  !" 

He  leaned  and  whispered,  long  and  ear- 
nestly, explaining  in  detail,  while  she  listened 
intently  and  nodded  her  comprehension. 
"Splendid!"  she  agreed;  "it's  wonderful  to 
think  that  you've  been  allowed  to  plan  and 
perfect  it !  You'll  get  all  the  credit !" 

He  sighed  with  relief.  Why  had  he  been 
afraid  to  tell  her  ?  All  the  years  her  encourage- 
ment and  sympathy  had  been  his  one  unfail- 
ing asset.  Yet,  somehow,  she  looked  so  small, 
as  though  in  the  last  few  moments  she  had 
crumpled  down  in  the  bed.  He  glanced  sur- 
reptitiously at  his  watch.  "I  knew  you'd  un- 
derstand," he  said  gratefully;  "you've  always 


Orders  95 

understood.  It  will  be  the  best  duty  I've 
ever  had,  far  and  away !  And  when  I  get 
back  you'll  be  well,  waiting  for  me.  We'll  go 
on  another  honeymoon  to  Quebec,  and  I'll 
buy  you  an  ermine  coat  (the  collar  will  have 
grown  up !)  Of  course  it  will  all  work  out 
right.  Why,  Beth,  what  is  it  ?" 

Mrs.  Windsor,  fighting  for  breath,  gasped 
through  her  tears:  "I  can't  .  .  .  pretend 
any  longer.  .  .  .  Do  you  suppose  .  .  .  after 
all  these  years  .  .  .  that  I  can't  tell  when 
you  are  trying  ...  to  keep  something  from 
me  ?  ...  When  do  you  go  ?  ...  Have 
you  your  orders  ?" 

Silently  he  laid  the  folded  orders  on  the 
coverlet.  "I  leave  at  seven  to-night.  The 
ship  sails  at  dawn,"  he  whispered. 

From  outside  came  the  sound  of  running 
feet;  the  door  opened.  Captain  Windsor 
found  himself  being  gently  propelled  toward 
the  corridor.  The  door  closed. 

After  a  while  the  cheerful  interne  joined 
him  and  talked,  with  impersonal  breeziness, 
of  a  brother  in  France :  "  Lucky  kid  !  Facing 
Metz !"  And  added:  "Hear  you're  going  to- 
night?" 


96  Orders 

Captain  Windsor  swallowed  hard  and  nod- 
ded: "My  wife?"  he  questioned  with  dumb 
misery. 

The  interne  was  disinterestedly  assuring: 
'This  afternoon  didn't  really  make  any  dif- 
ference— the  end  was  so  near — a  matter  of 
a  week  or  ten  days !  But  we  couldn't  take 
the  responsibility  of  explaining,  each  day, 
why  you  didn't  come  to  see  her,  if  you  had 
gone  without  telling  her." 

Captain  Windsor  felt  gropingly  for  a  chair. 
"Will  she  have  to  suffer?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  no!"  said  the  interne  with  profes- 
sional cheerfulness;  "the  pain  is  nearly  over. 
I  can  promise  you  that !" 

Later,  as  his  train  time  drew  near,  the  cap- 
tain bent,  for  a  grudgingly  vouchsafed  minute, 
to  kiss  her.  "Couldn't  you  wait  ...  for 
the  .  .  .  few  days?"  she  whispered;  then, 
in  answer  to  his  agonized  mumble  of  "War 
time  orders"  "Good-by — good  luck!  Come 
safely — home,"  she  said. 

Turning  blindly  away,  he  realized  for  the 
first  time  that  he  held  something,  and  looked 
down.  Tightly  crumpled  in  his  clinched  hand 


Orders  97 

was  the  outward  and  visible  sign  of  the  ardu- 
ously won  experience  of  his  long  career;  the 
shining  reward  for  months  of  war-time  work 
and  planning:  His  orders. 


ANCHORS  AWEIGH 

So  firmly  is  the  superstition,  "It  is  bad 
luck  to  watch  your  husband's  ship  out  of 
sight,"  established  among  "the  wives"  in 
the  United  States  navy,  that  if  you  had  ques- 
tioned Mrs.  Frank  Bradley — wife  of  a  junior 
lieutenant  and  a  bride  of  two  months — as  to 
its  origin,  she  would  have  answered  unhesitat- 
ingly that  it  was  "an  order  from  the  secretary 
of  the  navy." 

She  had  no  idea  of  disobeying  the  order 
when,  after  bidding  her  husband  good-by  very 
early  that  morning  and  crying  herself  into 
a  state  of  exhaustion  afterward,  she  realized 
she  could  get  to  the  navy-yard  in  time  to 
see  the  ship  sail  and  perhaps  catch  a  last 
glimpse  of  him. 

Like  most  officers,  Lieutenant  Bradley 
"didn't  want  his  wife  making  a  nuisance  of 
herself  around  the  ship,"  but  if  she  sat  in 

the  jitney  he  wouldn't  know  she  was  there. 

98 


Anchors  Aweigh  99 

And  the  jitney-man,  on  being  questioned  as 
to  charges — for  the  prudent  wife  of  a  junior 
lieutenant  attends  to  such  details,  even  in 
time  of  stress — had  answered  that  "he 
wouldn't  charge  anything  for  waiting;  it'd 
be  a  kind  of  novelty  to  watch  a  battleship 
get  away." 

Out  of  the  wind,  sheltered  by  a  building, 
Mrs.  Bradley  could  see  that  the  few  men  on 
deck  were  busy. 

The  duty-launch  had  been  hoisted  and 
secured;  the  forward  gangway  lowered;  two 
noisy  tugs  came  alongside;  on  the  bridge 
the  navigator  bent  over  a  large  chart;  the 
mail-orderly  returned  from  his  last  trip  to  the 
post-office;  a  messenger  boy,  whistling  lustily, 
sauntered  up  with  a  handful  of  telegrams. 

Four  bells  struck.  The  ship  was  to  sail 
at  half-past  ten.  Through  a  blur  of  tears 
Mrs.  Bradley  saw  the  navy-yard  workmen 
gather  about  the  after  gangway. 

Several  poorly  clad  women  arrived  and 
stood  near  her;  they  tried  to  cheer  a  younger 
woman  who  was  sobbing  and  monotonously 
asking:  "What  if  there's  war?" 

The   jitney-man   heard   her.      "If  there's 


ioo  Anchors  Awcigh 

war  that  big  ship  might  be  the  first  one  to 
go  to  the  bottom,"  he  observed  cheerfully 
to  his  passenger. 

"Good  morning!  It's  little  Mrs.  Bradley, 
isn't  it?"  questioned  a  pleasant  voice. 

The  admiral's  wife  stood  beside  the  jitney. 

"I'm  visiting  at  the  commandant's — the 
house  is  so  near  I  couldn't  resist  getting  a  last 
glimpse  of  things,"  she  said,  and  laughed 
apologetically.  "John  hates  women  hanging 
around  the  ship — but  he  can't  see  me  here," 
she  added. 

"Do  admirals  feel  that  way?  I  thought 
it  was  just  my  husband,"  said  Mrs.  Bradley. 

The  admiral's  wife  smiled. 

"This  must  be  your  first  parting,"  she 
observed. 

Mrs.  Bradley  nodded  forlornly. 

"Because  there  are  fifty-two  officers  on 
that  ship — most  of  them  are  married — and 
fifty  of  the  wives  aren't  anywhere  in  sight," 
said  the  admiral's  wife. 

"They've  grown  used  to  seeing  their  hus- 
bands go — or  else  they  don't  love  them  as  I 
do  mine,"  remarked  Mrs.  Bradley  resentfully. 

"I've  said  good-by  to  John  in  every  port 


Anchors  Aweigh  101 

from  Olongapo  to  Pensacola;  it  never  loses 
its  novelty  by  getting  easier;  but  one  grows 
more — patient,"  observed  the  admiral's  wife. 

"Other  times  couldn't  be  as  bad !  This 
parting  is  terrible,  and  hard,  because  there 
may  be  war,"  cried  Mrs.  Bradley. 

The  admiral's  wife  did  not  answer.  She 
clinched  her  hands  as  she  remembered  a  part- 
ing long  ago  in  a  gray  hospital-room,  when 
her  ensign  son  looked  at  her  from  unrecogniz- 
ing  eyes  and  agonizingly  moved  his  body 
under  the  encircling  bandages.  .  .  . 

"Minor  turret  explosion  on  battleship," 
announced  the  earliest  editions  of  the  news- 
papers when,  without  a  word  for  her  to 
treasure  through  the  years,  her  son  had 
slipped  away  .  .  .  into  the  dawn. 

Resolutely  the  admiral's  wife  glanced  at 
the  little  group  of  women  near  them. 

"Those  are  sailors'  wives — one  of  them  has 
a  baby  that  is  too  tiny  to  bring  here  this  cold 
morning,"  she  said. 

"That's  the  one  that's  crying  all  the  time 
about  war,"  volunteered  the  jitney-man. 

"Frank  says — it  will  be  a  naval  war," 
said  Mrs.  Bradley,  swallowing  with  difficulty. 


102  Anchors  Aweigh 

"I  hope  you  cheered  him  up — our  men 
need  all  their  courage  during  these  trying 
days,"  said  the  admiral's  wife  briskly.  She 
did  not  mention  that  five  times  during  their 
last  few  minutes  together  the  admiral  had 
reminded  her  not  to  forget  to  pay  his  life- 
insurance  dues. 

Mrs.  Bradley  began  to  cry.  "I  told  Frank 
.  .  .  that  if  anything  happened  to  ...  him 
...  I'd  soon  join  him/*  she  sobbed. 

"Splendid!"  observed  the  admiral's  wife 
dryly;  "after  that  I  suppose  he  left  the  house 
singing  joyfully — at  the  top  of  his  voice." 

"What  gets  me  is  that  while  those  fellows 
are  going  about  their  business  on  deck  there 
can  be  a  submarine  sitting  right  on  the  bottom 
underneath  them,"  remarked  the  jitney-man 
speculatively. 

"Your  first  name  doesn't  happen  to  be 
Job,  does  it?"  the  admiral's  wife  asked  him 
impersonally. 

"No'm,"  he  answered — "Samuel.  Samuel 
Johnson  Jones — but,  in  case  you  want  me, 
the  telephone's  under  the  name  of  Sulli- 
van  " 

Five  bells  struck. 


Anchors  Aweigh  103 

The  ship's  siren  tore  the  silence  into  dan- 
gling shreds.  Tugs  added  their  hoarse  voices. 
Near-by  destroyers  called  a  greeting — and 
farewell.  Voices  shouted  orders — through 
drifting  clouds  of  smoke. 

Slowly  .  .  .  the  great  dreadnought  moved 
.  .  .  and  as  the  whistles  quieted  down  the 
band  on  the  quarter-deck  played  the  opening 
bars  of  the  favorite  Naval  Academy  song, 
"Anchors  Aweigh." 

Gayly  the  old  tune  lilted  over  the  crowded 
gray  masses  of  steel  and  stone  as  it  had  echoed 
across  sunny  parade-ground  and  uproarious 
football  fields — when  youth  called  to  youth 
of  springtime  that  is  so  quickly  gone. 

Mrs.  Bradley,  her  eyes  shining,  jumped 
from  the  jitney  and  frantically  waved  her 
muff.  Tears  and  forebodings  were  swept 
away  by  an  overwhelming  flood  of  enthu- 
siasm. 

The  sailors'  wives  stepped  forward;  the 
one  with  the  tiny  baby  lifted  it  high  and, 
steadying  its  head,  bade  it  "look  at  father's 
boat — and  the  pretty  flag." 

Puffing  .  .  .  the  tugs  warped  the  ship  from 
the  pier  .  .  .  shoved  her  sidewise  .  .  .  into 


104  Anchors  Aweigh 

the  channel  .  .  .  paused  ...  a  perceptible 
minute  .  .  .  and  moved  ahead  .  .  .  down- 
stream. 

Slowly  .  .  .  she  gathered  momentum;  at 
her  bow  two  white-tipped  lines  of  water 
flowed  sharply  out  .  .  .  more  faintly  "An- 
chors Aweigh"  drifted  back  on  the  cold  wind. 
Mrs.  Bradley,  mindful  of  superstition, 
turned  away  and  climbed  into  the  jitney. 

"But  where  is  the  admiral's  wife?"  she 
asked. 

"The  lady  that  was  talking  to  you  ?    She's 
gone!"  said  the  jitney-man.     "I  asked  her 
something,  but  she  didn't  answer — just  shook 
her  head  and  walked  away — sort  of  stum- 
bling- 
He  cranked  the  engine  vigorously. 
"The  reason  she  couldn't  answer  was  be- 
cause she  was  crying,"  said  the  jitney-man. 


VI 
DUTY  FIRST 

SOME  hours  before  the  United  States  broke 
off  diplomatic  relations  with  Germany  a 
watchful  observer  might  have  sighted  the 
elusive  shadows  of  coming  events. 

The  fleet,  unheralded  by  the  newspapers, 
returned  from  their  interrupted  target-prac- 
tice off  Cape  Cruz,  Cuba,  to  the  rallying- 
point  of  a  Virginia  port.  In  the  evening  the 
harbor  was  empty;  the  next  morning  saw  it 
crowded,  as  the  long  lines  of  silent,  gray  ships 
"stood  in"  from  sea;  destroyers  sped  swiftly 
to  their  anchorages,  and  submarines — like 
rows  of  tethered  whales — gathered  about  the 
parent  ships.  Soon  launches  were  lowered 
and  scurrying  between  the  anchored  fleet 
and  the  near-by  shore. 

The  big  hotel  on  the  beach  filled  in  an  hour 
with  officers'  wives — quiet  women,  whose 
cheerful  voices  contrasted  sharply  with  the 

wistfulness    of    their    unsmiling    eyes — and 

105 


io6  Duty  First 

quickly  emptied  again  as  the  ships  went 
their  appointed  ways.  Soon  the  wide  harbor 
was  an  unbroken,  rippling,  sunshiny  space 
again. 

Where  did  they  go — the  ships  ? 

Ask  the  voyagers  on  transatlantic  liners  of 
the  grim  vessel  with  the  starry  flag  that 
loomed  suddenly  into  view  through  the 
treacherous  mist. 

You  may  not  hear  of  them — the  gray  ships 
—but  tireless,  alert,  vigilant,  they  go  about 
their  work,  and  behind  that  narrow  line  of 
steel  may  dwell  in  safety  those  "who  go  upon 
their  lawful  occasions"  under  the  Stars  and 
Stripes. 

Since  that  memorable  Good  Friday  when 
the  whistles  of  Washington  announced  to  the 
waiting  city  that  the  President's  signature 
had  been  affixed  to  a  momentous  document 
the  changes  on  the  ships  have  been  slight. 
It  is  hardly  possible  to  improve  upon  an 
organization  that  has,  by  years  of  unceasing 
effort,  reached  a  high  state  of  proficiency, 
and,  except  that  the  training  of  numbers  of 
extra  men  is  added  to  the  routine  duties, 
there  is  little  difference;  only  now  the  officers' 


Duty  First  107 

day  begins  two  hours  earlier  and  ends — when 
their  work  is  finished. 


When,  just  before  dawn,  an  orderly 
knocked  at  the  door  of  the  executive  officer's 
stateroom  and  called  "Half-past  four,  com- 
mander!" he  did  not  awaken  the  occupant 
of  the  narrow  berth.  The  executive  had  de- 
cided, hours  before,  that  morning  was  never 
coming,  as  he  tossed  about  and  mentally  re- 
viewed the  contents  of  yesterday's  letter  and 
wireless  message  sent  by  his  wife. 

They  were  from  a  distant  city,  where  she 
had  gone  to  consult  a  famous  surgeon  about 
their  only  child — the  small  son  whose  grow- 
ing helplessness  hung  like  a  sombre  cloud 
over  all  their  days — and  choked  any  references 
to  the  future  with  a  shadowy  hand;  for  the 
boy  was  partially  and  increasingly  paralyzed, 
and  every  dollar  they  could  spare  had  gone 
to  doctors  of  varying  capabilities  and  un- 
varying avariciousness — and  all  the  time  the 
child  grew  worse. 

This  great  specialist  was  their  last,  hard- 
wrung  resort.  The  executive's  wife  had 
written  of  the  quick,  skilful  diagnosis,  and 


io8  Duty  First 

had  followed  the  letter  by  a  wireless  mes- 
sage— "The  surgeon  would  operate  to-morrow 
at  ten — a  grave  operation,  but  the  boy's  only 
chance!  Could  he  come?"  it  ended  in  a 
little  burst  of  panic  and  loneliness. 

The  executive  officer  smothered  a  groan 
and,  sitting  up,  glanced  at  the  pale  stars  and 
gray  waste  of  water  framed  by  the  open  port- 
hole. The  ship  was  short  three  officers  through 
illness — and  even  if  he  could  have  been  spared 
he  could  not  have  reached  the  hospital  until 
five  hours  after  the  operation  was  over.  It 
was  so  impossible  that  he  had  not  even  spoken 
to  the  captain. 

Twenty  minutes  later  he  stepped  on  deck 
and  faced  the  routine  business  of  his  day 
in  the  weird  light  of  the  early  dawn. 

The  executive  officer  of  a  battleship  or 
dreadnought  holds  the  rank  of  commander 
and,  if  he  is  competent,  the  busiest  billet  on 
the  ship.  He  is  the  housekeeper;  every  de- 
tail passes  through  his  hands  on  its  way  to 
the  captain;  he  receives  the  report  of  each 
departmental  head;  knows  the  standing  and 
capabilities  of  every  member  of  the  crew.  All 
records  of  mistakes  or  accidents  are  his  to 


Duty  First  109 

investigate,  boil  down,  strip  of  unnecessary 
details  and  present — mere  shadows  of  their 
original  selves — to  the  captain  for  settlement. 
On  board  ship  an  executive  officer  knows 
everything — except  idleness. 

And  now,  accompanied  by  the  officer  of 
the  deck,  this  executive  went  over  the  two 
rows  of  launches  and  duty-boats :  tested  pul- 
leys, examined  ropes,  glanced  over  the  de- 
tailed lists  of  their  engine  fitness;  asked  a 
question  here,  made  a  suggestion  there,  and, 
leaving  the  officers  in  charge  scribbling  in 
their  note-books,  went  on  with  the  boatswain 
to  inspect  the  booms — those  long  poles  to 
which  launches  are  fastened,  and  up  which 
the  launch  crews  scramble  with  a  dexterity 
that  makes  the  tense  observer  a  ready  con- 
vert to  the  Darwinian  theory. 

The  executive  took  no  chances  on  the  ac- 
curacy of  any  scientific  hypothesis  as  he  ex- 
amined the  lashings  and  rungs  of  the  rope 
ladders,  the  tension  of  the  breast-high  man- 
ropes,  the  strength  of  the  boat-fastenings, 
and  nodded  his  commendation. 

Forward,  a  little  group  of  stewards  waited 
as  he  came  toward  the  gangway-ladder.  He 


i  io  Duty  First 

noted,  with  minute  care,  the  condition  of 
hoists  and  pulleys,  hinges,  treads,  and  land- 
ing-platform, and  spoke  his  approval  to  the 
officer  of  the  deck. 

This  opened  the  ladder  to  traffic;  the 
stewards  and  assistant  paymaster  departed 
on  waiting  launches  to  the  nearest  port  to 
lay  in  several  days'  fresh  food  supply  for 
officers  and  crew. 

The  executive,  examining  the  anchor  gear, 
spoke  to  the  paymaster  and  started  on  his 
survey  of  the  morning  watch.  Officers  and 
men  were  in  their  places  and,  with  unhurried 
step,  the  commander  made  his  rounds  from 
station  to  station  until,  after  the  assistant 
paymaster  and  the  steward's  return,  the 
ship  proceeded  on  her  way  and  the  executive, 
turning  over  the  deck  to  the  officer  in  charge, 
went  down  to  the  ward-room  for  his  breakfast. 

The  long  table,  extending  across  the  of- 
ficer's compartment,  was  simmering  with  in- 
dignant comment.  The  daily  wireless  news 
from  Arlington  had  just  been  delivered,  and 
an  account  of  the  shelling  of  a  sunken  ship's 
life-boat  by  the  attacking  submarine  was  the 
subject  of  conversation. 


Duty  First  in 

"Have  you  seen  the  report,  commander?" 
demanded  the  doctor;  "Mahoney,  the  gunner 
who  went  from  this  ship,  was  among  those 
killed.  Nice  warfare — shooting  unarmed  men 
in  an  open  life-boat !" 

The  executive  gave  a  sharp  exclamation. 
"Not  Mahoney!"  and  added:  "He  came 
with  me  from  my  last  shore  station.  I  first 
noticed  him  when  he  was  one  of  the  orderlies 
outside  our  house.  My  boy  .  .  .  was  de- 
voted to  Mahoney." 

"He  was  a  corking  gunner,"  observed  the 
ordnance  officer,  and  bitterly  advocated  a 
general  Teutonic  exodus  to  an  uncharted 
tropics. 

"Mahoney  was  promoted  to  coxswain  be- 
fore he  went  up  for  gunner,  at  the  navy- 
yard,"  commented  the  executive,  pursuing 
his  remembrances;  "he  was  so  competent 
that  the  admiral  wanted  him — but  he  never 
would  answer  the  quartermaster's  hail.  He'd 
let  the  quartermaster  bawl — while  he  eased 
in  to  the  gangway — and  let  the  admiral  out, 
with  no  one  to  receive  him !" 

"What  happened  ?"  asked  the  ordnance 
officer. 


iia  Duty  First 

"I  went  over  the  answers  about  fifty  times 
with  Mahoney.  You  must  answer  according 
to  the  ranking  officer  you  have  aboard.  If 
it's  an  admiral  you  answer,  'Flag.'  If  it's  a 
captain  you  answer  the  name  of  his  ship;  if  it's 
an  officer  answer  'Aye,  aye';  a  junior  or  petty 
officer,  'No,  no';  an  enlisted  man,  *  Hello.' 

'I'm  not  given  to  so  much  talking/ 
growled  Mahoney,  and  the  very  next  day  I 
happened  to  be  on  the  dock  when  the  quar- 
termaster hailed,  'Boat  ahoy  !'  and  Mahoney's 
voice  answered:  'One  aye,  aye!  Two  no, 
no's!  Three  hallo's!  And  a  pay-clerk!'  and 
seeing  me  he  added  in  the  same  yell,  'I'm 
through  with  launchin' — I'll  be  tryin'  for  a 
gunner's  rate — it's  more  peaceful,'  "  recounted 
the  executive,  and  smiled  at  the  ripple  of 
laughter,  but  sobered  as  he  remembered. 
"My  boy — was  around  in  his  wheel-chair. 
Mahoney  talked  enough  to  him.  My  boy- 
was  devoted  to  Mahoney,"  said  the  com- 
mander, pushing  back  his  chair  and  rising. 

From  the  ward-room  he  climbed  to  the 
upper  decks  and  bridge,  to  see  that  the  orders 
for  the  morning's  work  were  being  carried  out. 

Then,  accompanied  by  the  ordnance  officer, 


Duty  First  113 

he  descended  to  the  gun-deck.  All  matters 
pertaining  to  the  smooth  working  of  the  guns 
received  painstaking,  absorbed  attention. 
The  sights,  the  hoists,  the  breeches,  each 
had  their  share.  The  ordnance  officer,  satis- 
fied, went  his  way,  while  the  executive,  turn- 
ing, entered  the  crew's  mess-hall — just  as 
the  triangular  red  meal-pennant  crept  to  the 
yard-arm  and  the  clatter  of  dishes  wrestled 
with  the  aroma  of  coffee.  He  passed  critically, 
between  the  long  rows  of  tables,  to  the  galley. 
Here  his  approach  caused  a  decided  commo- 
tion; the  assistant  cook  had  barely  time  to 
make  temporary  repairs  following  an  agonized 
but  noiseless  tussle  with  Billy,  the  ship's  mas- 
cot— a  wayward  and  defiant  goat  with  an 
uncontrolled  penchant  for  frequenting  the 
forbidden  galley  during  meal-hours.  He  met 
the  executive,  a  few  steps  beyond,  wearing 
an  aggrieved  expression  and  some  fragments 
of  potato-peelings;  and  the  commander,  pass- 
ing warily  by,  registered  the  remembrance 
of  Billy's  provocative,  sprightly  pas  seul  to 
tell  his  son. 

Would  he  ever  hear  again  the  old  ques- 
tion:  "What  did  the  goat  do  next,  father?" 


ii4  Duty  First 

The  executive  winced  as  he  turned  away. 

At  the  door  of  his  office  his  clerk  met  him 
with  the  mail — just  put  aboard  from  a  tug. 
The  commander  settled  at  his  desk  and  sorted 
over  the  pile  of  letters  and  packages.  He 
took  up  the  official  mail  first.  A  few  docu- 
ments were  laid  aside  for  the  captain's 
perusal;  others  he  read  carefully  and  locked 
away  in  the  desk  drawer;  a  number  were 
thrown  into  the  wire  basket  to  be  answered 
by  dictation. 

Next  came  his  personal  mail.  Two  letters 
were  from  former  mess-attendants  asking  for 
his  assistance  in  getting  a  transfer  and  a 
higher  rating;  these  were  added  to  the  con- 
tents of  the  wire  basket.  Eight  were  wed- 
ding invitations—  "The  whole  army  is  getting 
married!"  mused  the  executive;  he  came  of 
seafaring  stock,  but  to-day  he  questioned 
the  charms  of  his  beloved  branch  of  the 
service.  "It's  pretty  fine  to  be  on  land," 
thought  the  executive  wistfully  as  he  noticed 
that,  for  the  first  time  in  many  months,  there 
was  no  letter  from  his  wife.  Instead  a  large, 
square  envelope  with  the  postmark  of  an 
inland  city  came  to  his  hand.  It  was  a  re- 


Duty  First  115 

quest  from  an  amateur  statistician  who 
mentioned  various  political  affiliations  and 
demanded  information  as  to  the  amount  dis- 
bursed daily  and  yearly  by  the  government 
for  officers'  food. 

"  '  I  find  it  easy  to  get  the  figures  of  the 
money  spent  for  the  sailors'  rations,  but  con- 
sider it  very  suspicious  that,  in  these  hard 
times,  there  is  no  statement  made  about  the 
quality  and  cost  of  food  supplied  to  officers. 
As  a  taxpayer  I  demand  to  know/  "  read  the 
executive,  and  dictated  the  answer  to  his 
yeoman. 

"All  officers  of  the  United  States  navy  at 
sea,  or  on  shore  duty,  buy  and  pay  for  every 
article  of  food  they  use,"  clicked  off  the  type- 
writer. 

The  rest  of  the  letters  were  from  the  wives 
or  mothers  of  sailors  in  the  ship's  crew.  The 
executive  sighed,  as  he  looked  at  the  number 
of  them.  Some  were  pathetic — some  abusive. 
An  incoherent  scrawl  threatened  dire  things 
unless  the  writer's  husband,  a  young  ma- 
chinist's mate  (with  a  good  record),  continued 
his  allotment. 

From  an  address  in  down-town  east-side 


ii6  Duty  First 

New  York  a  girl  wrote  that  just  as  she  had 
gotten  together  her  wedding  outfit  the 
prospective  bridegroom  had  vanished.  She 
"had  heard  that  he  had  enlisted  in  the  navy 
under  an  assumed  name  and  was  serving  on 
some  ship" — what  name  or  which  ship  she 
did  not  know,  but,  endowing  the  executive 
with  omniscience,  bade  him  seek  out  the 
elusive  swain  and  waken  his  slumbering  sense 
of  responsibility. 

"Wonder  why  she  picked  on  this  ship?" 
grumbled  the  recipient  aggrievedly. 

One  woman,  mistaking  the  commander  for 
the  doctor,  went  into  the  minute  details  of 
an  obscure  illness  and  enlarged  on  the  neces- 
sity of  the  sailor-relative's  immediate  return. 

A  short  note  from  a  mother  asked  that  her 
son  might  be  allowed  to  come  home.  "His 
father  is  dying,"  the  letter  ended  with  a  pa- 
thetic dignity. 

The  last  communication — an  anonymous 
one — held  a  threat.  The  executive  officer 
flipped  it  with  his  finger.  "Knew  he  was 
one  of  a  gang  of  thieves — wish  I  could  catch 
the  others,"  he  said  aloud,  as  he  divided  the 
letters  into  four  piles.  One  pile  he  sent  to 


Duty  First  117 

the  chaplain;  another  he  put  aside  for  future 
consideration;  a  single  letter  was  enclosed 
to  the  police  of  a  near-by  city  for  investiga- 
tion; the  rest  he  gathered  up  to  discuss  with 
the  captain. 

A  knock  sounded.  "Muster,  sir/*  said 
the  orderly.  The  executive  followed  him  to 
the  deck. 

Aft,  a  bugle  was  sounding  the  morning 
call  above  the  tramp  of  many  feet,  as  the 
men  marched  up  or  fell  in  with  their  divisions. 
The  captain  of  marines  made  his  report;  the 
ordnance,  engineer,  and  navigating  officers 
accounted  for  their  departments;  the  pay- 
master varied  his  document  with  two  recom- 
mendations; the  doctor,  and  the  master-at- 
arms  in  charge  of  the  ship's  jail,  accounted 
for  absentees. 

The  executive  gave  close  attention  to 
the  reports,  questioned,  objected,  approved; 
then,  with  his  hands  full  of  papers  and  letters, 
turned  toward  the  captain's  door. 

The  bugle  sounded  shrilly  for  "setting-up" 
drill,  and  the  sailors  and  marines  launched 
valiantly  but  disgustedly  into  the  gymnastic 
exercises  laid  out  with  wise  attention  to  their 


ii8  Duty  First 

physical  welfare,  while  Billy,  from  the  shad- 
ow of  the  turret,  watched  with  amazed  won- 
der his  friends'  unfruitful  antics. 

Ding-ding  !  Ding-ding  !  rang  the  ship's  bell. 

The  executive  officer  stopped  short. 

Ten  o'clock ! 

Far  away  .  .  .  in  a  hospital  waiting-room  his 
wife  was  sitting — silent,  wide-eyed,  with  fingers 
interlocked  to  hide  their  trembling,  and  alone — 
except  for  the  nurses  with  their  shop-worn,  pro- 
fessional cheerfulness.  And  somewhere — in  a 
room  above  her — an  ether  cone  descending  over 
a  small,  frightened,  fever-flushed  face  .  .  . 

The  executive  officer  stumbled  a  little  as 
he  walked  toward  the  captain's  door. 

Inside  he  gave  his  careful  report,  answered 
questions,  made  a  suggestion,  wrote  down 
some  directions,  and,  by  sheer  force  of  will, 
concentrated  all  his  attention  on  the  work 
before  him,  and  finishing  rose  to  go. 

The  captain  glanced  at  him  with  level, 
kindly  eyes.  "Anything  wrong,  comman- 
der?" he  asked,  and  stood  silent  as  the  exec- 
utive, with  the  few  scattered  words,  "My 
boy — trepan — this  morning,"  turned  and  hur- 
ried away. 


Far  away  ...  in  a  hospital  waiting-room  his  wife  was  sitting. 


Duty  First  119 

On  deck  the  bugles  sang  their  orders  as 
the  crew  broke  into  small  groups.  Some, 
with  their  officers,  entered  the  thick  steel 
turrets  where  each  great  fifty-foot  gun  can 
throw  death  and  destruction  far  beyond  the 
dim  horizon-line;  others  manned  the  many 
smaller  guns;  a  detail  of  officers  and  men 
climbed  to  the  dizzy  heights  of  the  cage-masts 
to  "observe"  how  and  where  the  shots  fell. 
Signal-corps  men  brightened  the  bridge-ends 
with  the  flutter  and  whirl  of  small  flags. 
Battle  practice  was  on;  and  the  executive 
officer  at  his  battle  station  watched  and 
criticised. 

This  finished,  he  hurried  back  to  his  office 
and  the  daily  preliminary  mast,  where  the 
requests  and  complaints  too  trivial  to  reach 
the  captain  are  disposed  of  and  investiga- 
tions of  the  more  serious  cases  are  prepared 
before  the  case  is  taken  up  at  the  official  police 
court. 

An  executive's  duties  bring  him  in  close 
touch  with  the  enlisted  personnel,  and  his 
judgment,  trained  in  this  exacting  daily 
school,  is  disconcertingly  keen. 

Three  men,  requesting  leave  of  absence  to 


120  Duty  First 

visit  dying  relatives,  went  back  to  their  work 
with  great  celerity.  A  cook,  yearning  for  a 
navy-yard  station  near  his  family,  was  cau- 
tioned against  his  growing  inclination  toward 
permanent  shore  duty,  and  departed,  with  a 
rueful  grin.  Two  stokers  wanted  higher  rat- 
ings; a  coxswain  requested  his  good-conduct 
stripes.  These  were  noted  and  put  down  for 
investigation. 

The  executive  turned  to  the  big,  pleasant- 
faced  machinist's  mate  who  stood  next. 

"Want  to  stop  your  wife's  monthly  allot- 
ment— why?"  he  asked,  and  laid  the  pitiful 
evidence — a  handful  of  letters  from  neighbors, 
a  probation  officer,  and  reluctant  relatives — 
on  the  abusive  scrawl  he  had  received  that 
morning. 

The  primrose  path !  That  led  through 
moving-picture  palaces  and  amusement  parks 
to  the  saloons. 

"Any  children?"  asked  the  executive, 
mentally  recruiting  the  chaplain's  assistance. 

"No,  sir,"  answered  the  machinist  and 
added  a  grim  denunciation  of  idle  women  and 
their  ways,  as  he  went  out  of  the  narrow  door, 
just  as  eight  bells  gave  the  signal  for  the  band 


Duty  First  121 

to  assist  at  the  crew's  enjoyment  of  their 
dinner. 

The  commander,  glancing  toward  his  desk, 
noticed  three  packages  remaining  from  his 
morning  mail  and  tore  them  open.  The  first 
two  were  official,  but  from  the  third  he  took 
out  a  wrapped  and  padded  bundle.  A  small 
mechanical  replica  of  an  English  battleship's 
launch,  complete  in  every  detail,  met  his 
astonished  eyes.  Around  the  boat-hook,  held 
by  the  miniature  coxswain  on  the  tiny  deck, 
a  thin  piece  of  paper  was  twisted;  the  execu- 
tive unwound  it.  His  son's  name  headed  the 
few  lines  of  writing.  "One  hello!  The  cox- 
swain's me.  This  will  run  fine  in  the  bath- 
tub. I'll  be  seeing  you  soon,"  it  read.  And 
the  signature  was  Mahoney's. 

The  executive  officer  hastily  examined  the 
wrappings,  noting  the  censor's  veto  and  the 
postmark.  The  box  had  been  mailed  in  Liver- 
pool a  week  before  Mahoney  started  on  the 
return  voyage  of  his  ill-fated  duty. 

"I'll  be  seeing  you  soon,"  reread  the  com- 
mander, and  shivered  in  the  warm  air. 

The  long  day  dragged  on. 

At  luncheon  the  executive  officer  ate,  un- 


122  Duty  First 

noting,  what  was  put  before  him;  answered, 
unheeding,  the  chaff  of  conversation  addressed 
to  him.  Only  the  orderlies,  with  wireless 
messages,  caught  his  immediate  attention  as, 
with  apprehensive  dread,  he  opened  and  read 
the  routine  announcements. 

At  one  o'clock  he  accompanied  the  captain 
to  "mast,"  and  gave  the  results  of  his  in- 
vestigations or  knowledge  in  deciding  ques- 
tionable cases. 

This  finished,  the  afternoon  drills  com- 
menced. 

The  executive  made  frequent  visits  to 
different  points  where  the  ship's  work  was 
going  forward  or,  in  his  office,  checked  over 
transfers,  initialled  approved  requests  for 
advanced  ratings,  went  over  examinations  for 
promotions,  considered  changes  of  detail  and 
transfers  of  sailors  from  one  division  to  an- 
other— to  keep  the  ship's  organization  up  to 
its  highest  efficiency — and  heard  frequent  re- 
ports. 

With  the  ordnance  officer  he  looked  over 
a  catch  in  the  working  of  one  of  the  ammuni- 
tion hoists,  and  took  down  notes  of  the  pro- 
posed changes;  inspected  the  engine-room 


Duty  First  123 

where  many  brawny  stokers  toiled  and  sky- 
larked in  the  glare  of  the  hungry  furnaces. 
The  paymaster's  storeroom  needed  repaint- 
ing, the  executive  decided;  and  gave  the 
order — oblivious  of  the  paymaster's  involun- 
tary motion  to  clasp  his  head  with  both  hands, 
as  he  thought  of  the  impending  paint-chipping 
gang  attacking  the  steel  bulkheads  with  ham- 
mers and  chisels. 

At  the  doctor's  department  the  odors  of 
anaesthetics  and  disinfectants  wafted  out 
through  the  hospitably  open  door;  the  exec- 
utive hurried  past  and  did  not  return,  nor 
did  he  inspect  the  wireless-room — where  mes- 
sages came  and  went — with  snapping  and 
clicking.  ' 

As  the  afternoon  waned  he  became  con- 
scious that,  through  the  usual  Freemasonry 
of  ship  life,  the  officers  had  heard  of  his  trouble. 
The  navigator,  finishing  a  statement  of  affairs 
in  his  department,  launched  into  an  imper- 
sonal diatribe  on  the  miracles  wrought  by 
modern  surgery.  The  bachelor  captain  of 
marines,  recommending  some  trivial  changes 
in  the  guard,  broke  off  to  speak  with  inspir- 
ing earnestness  on  the  marvellous  recupera- 


124  Duty  First 

tive  power  of  children.  The  doctor  came  in 
without  any  camouflage  of  reports  or  ques- 
tions and  started  upon  a  learned  medical 
discourse;  then — remembering  his  own  three 
clothes-destroying,  shoe-eliminating  young 
pirates — choked,  and  departed  hastily.  The 
chaplain  paused  in  the  threshing  out  of  truth 
from  romance  in  a  letter  under  investigation, 
and  cleared  his  throat.  .  .  . 

From  somewhere  aft  came  a  wail  of  un- 
speakable anguish,  of  heartrending,  tear- 
wringing  melancholy;  long  crescendos  and 
discords  of  such  rasping  shrillness  that,  as 
the  notes  rose  and  fell  the  chaplain  remarked 
thoughtfully  that  one  of  his  teeth  needed  fill- 
ing; then,  starting  up,  glanced  through  the 
door  and  down  the  long  deck  to  where  a 
sailor,  seated  on  an  upturned  bucket,  smiled 
cheerfully  at  his  increasing  power  with  the 
mouth-organ. 

"What  was  I  saying?"  inquired  the  chap- 
lain, and  left  volunteering  to  make  the 
musician  pocket  his  instrument — or  aban- 
don it. 

And  after  dinner,  at  the  evening  torpedo- 
defense  drill,  the  sailors  "fell  to"  with  dash 


Duty  First  125 

and  vigor,  and  the  last  exercise  of  the  day 
drew  to  a  triumphant  finish  as  the  executive, 
after  overlooking  the  arrangements  for  to- 
morrow's pickets  and  patrols,  and  verifying 
the  night  shifts  of  officers  and  men,  reported 
to  the  captain  that  the  water-tight  doors 
were  closed  and  everything  secure. 

"  Any  message  yet — from  your  wife  ? "  the 
captain  asked. 

The  executive  shook  his  head  dumbly 
and,  bidding  the  captain  good  night,  wearily 
descended  the  ladder  and  went  to  his 
cabin. 

Ding-ding !  Ding-ding !  sounded  the  ship's 
bell. 

"Ten  o'clock — again"  muttered  the  execu- 
tive, switching  on  the  light.  The  cluttered 
desk  demanded  his  attention;  painstakingly 
he  straightened,  sorted,  arranged — dragging 
out  each  act  to  take  the  extreme  limit  of  time 
— but  the  little  box,  with  the  mechanical 
steam-launch  and  message,  he  put  quickly 
out  of  sight  in  a  seldom-opened  lower  drawer. 

"  Poor  Mahoney,"  said  the  executive,  and 
glanced  toward  his  bunk.  He  was  tired 
.  .  .  but  the  dark  .  .  .  with  no  protect- 


i26  Duty  First 

ing  wall  of  work  between  him  .  .  .  and  his 
thoughts.  .  .  . 

For  a  moment  he  stood,  looking  through 
the  open  port-hole  at  the  stately  proces- 
sion of  the  stars — the  whirl  and  sweep  of 
water  going  its  appointed  way  with  the  chang- 
ing tides — and  heard  the  wide,  healing  wind 
singing  through  the  cage-masts — and  a  little 
feeling  of  comfort,  born  of  the  sense  of  law 
and  order  in  all  created  things,  came  to  him, 
to  be  quickly  followed  by  that  old  pathetic 
grievance  of  the  children  of  men,  who  look 
with  aching  eyes  at  nature's  unpitying  joy- 
ousness.  .  .  . 

How  far  would  the  agonized  cry  of  one 
little  suffering  child  reach — toward  the  sky  ? 
The  merest  needle-point  of  sound — held  up 
—against  the  illimitable,  spacious  heavens ! 

He  turned,  with  a  sudden,  unreasoning 
terror,  to  face  an  orderly  standing  in  the 
doorway.  .  .  . 

"Wireless  for  you,  sir.  Any  answer?" 
asked  the  messenger,  watching  the  executive 
as  he  stood  holding  the  unopened  telegram 
in  his  trembling  hand.  The  commander  did 
not  reply  as,  at  last,  he  tore  open  the  message. 


Duty  First  127 

But  the  orderly,  waiting  outside,  heard  him 
give  a  little  breathless  exclamation  of  thank- 
fulness— and  saw  him  walk  unsteadily  to  the 
desk-chair — and  bury  his  face  against  his 
arms. 


VII 

THE  ADMIRAL'S  HOLLYHOCKS 

"  You  look  as  though  you  had  seen  a  ghost, 
Admiral,"  I  called.  We  had  the  club  library 
to  ourselves,  but  the  admiral,  sitting  by  a 
window  overlooking  the  avenue,  did  not 
glance  up  from  a  dazed  contemplation  of  the 
service  paper  in  his  hand. 

"I  have,"  he  answered  so  shortly  that  I 
wondered,  with  resentment,  if  he  thought  I 
was  trying  to  pry  into  his  affairs.  I  am  not 
a  naval  officer;  but  I  know  the  admiral  fairly 
well.  I've  seen  him  at  the  club,  almost  daily, 
during  the  eight  or  ten  years  since  he  was 
retired  from  active  service;  I  like  him,  too — 
although  sometimes  we  don't  quite  under- 
stand each  other. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Admiral,"  I  said 
stiffly.  I  rather  expected  him  to  apologize, 
but  as  he  paid  no  attention,  and  sat  staring 
through  the  window,  I  took  up  my  catalogue 

again  and  wondered,  with  my  annual  wonder- 

128 


The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks     129 

ment,  why  the  flowers  the  seedmen  advertise 
are  so  different  from  the  specimens  my  garden 
produces 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  flowers?" 
asked  the  admiral,  so  unexpectedly  that  I 
forgot  to  show  my  offense  at  his  earlier  treat- 
ment. 

"Why,  yes,"  I  answered,  getting  up  and 
going  over  to  a  chair  facing  him;  "they're 
rather  a  hobby  of  mine."  I  held  out  the 
catalogue.  "I  was  just  looking  over  the 
spring  lists.  We've  a  big  garden  on  our  Long 
Island  place " 

The  admiral  didn't  seem  to  be  listening. 
His  eyes  were  fixed  on  a  show-window  op- 
posite, where  a  florist's  assistant  was  busy 
redecorating. 

Presently  he  roused  himself  to  say:  "I 
can't  tell  one  flower  from  another — except 
hollyhocks !  My  mother  loved  them;  she 
used  to  trade,  and  buy,  and  beg  hollyhock 
seeds."  The  admiral  paused.  "I  don't  often 
see  hollyhocks  any  more,"  he  said. 

"Well,  no,"  I  agreed,  "they're  out  of 
fashion.  You  rarely  see  hollyhocks  in  the 
Long  Island  or  Newport  gardens.  They're 


130     The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks 

kind  of  unappealing,  commonplace  flowers, 
and  now  that  people  don't  have  back  fences 
there  isn't  any  place  for  them." 

"Hollyhocks  are  the  flowers  of  palaces  and 
the  symbol  of  tragedy,"  asserted  the  admiral 
with  such  sharp  emphasis  that  I  glanced 
affrontedly  at  him. 

"Well — really—  I  began,  but  he  inter- 
rupted me.  "Have  you  travelled  in  China? 
Not  around  the  treaty  ports — but  through 
the  inland  cities?"  And  at  my  negative 
answer  he  went  on:  "At  Nanking  are  the 
ruins  of  an  imperial  city  of  surpassing  mag- 
nificence. Palaces,  bridges,  and  walls  crum- 
bling into  dilapidation — the  aftermath  of  the 
Taiping  Rebellion.  But  every  summer  the 
old  courtyards  are  abloom  with  hollyhocks — 
as  if  the  blithe  ghosts  of  the  court  beauties 
whose  mutilated  bodies  choked  the  old  moats 
had  come  back  to  laugh  at  torture  and  death. 

"And  in  the  gardens  of  the  Forbidden 
City — on  the  shore  of  the  lake — there  is  a 
marble  bench.  The  young  emperor  used  to 
sit  there,  hour  after  hour,  hoping,  fearing, 
dreaming,  planning  for  the  future  of  his  coun- 
try. 


The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks     131 

"He's  dead — murdered — but  to-day,  back 
of  his  bench,  the  hollyhocks,  a  massed  legion 
of  pink  and  crimson,  still  blossom  against 
the  lacelike  carvings  of  the  marble  wall — 
the  flowers  of  palace  gardens;  the  camp-fol- 
lowers of  disaster !" 

The  admiral  paused.  "It's  forty-eight 
years  since  I  saw  my  first  Chinese  holly- 
hocks," he  said  with  wistful  amazement,  and 
lapsed  into  silence. 

"Were  they  connected  with  a  tragedy  ?  I'd 
like  to  hear  about  it  if  it  wouldn't  bore  you," 
I  said  humbly.  I  could  have  understood  if 
he  had  mentioned  gardenias,  or  orchids,  or 
even  gloxinias — but  hollyhocks  ! 

The  admiral  hesitated,  and  reluctantly 
folded  the  service  paper.  "It  isn't  exactly 
an  amusing  story,"  he  said,  and  after  a  pause 
commenced : 

"  Five  of  us  went,  a  month  after  our  grad- 
uating exercises  at  the  Naval  Academy,  to 
the  old  Shenandoah  in  the  Asiatic  Squadron 
— Morgan,  Rees,  Tracy,  Carter,  and  I.  Car- 
ter, the  fun-loving,  joke-making  member  of 
our  class,  surprised  us  on  Graduation  Day 
by  quietly  marrying  the  little  Annapolis  girl 


132     The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks 

with  whom  he  had  been  in  love  for  over  a 
year. 

"She  came  to  the  station  the  morning  we 
left,  carrying  some  kind  of  charm  for  Carter 
to  wear  around  his  neck.  'It  will  bring  you 
home  safely/  she  quavered  forlornly,  her 
face  red  from  crying.  She  must  have  been 
all  of  seventeen ! 

"We  were  weeks  getting  out  to  the  Orient 
and  months  cruising  about  until,  in  the 
summer  of  the  next  year,  we  anchored  at 
Kiukiang  for  an  overhaul  period  and  to  give 
the  men  shore  liberty. 

"It  was  my  first  view  of  the  Yangtze  and 
of  the  crowded,  gray-walled  river  cities  with 
their  ponderous,  guarded  gates. 

"Kiukiang  is  one  of  these  cities.  Time 
has  touched  it  gently — even  the  lacquered 
doors  of  the  great  temple  to  Kwanyin,  God- 
dess of  Mercy,  on  the  river-bank  overlooking 
the  city  wall,  show  little  sign  of  the  passing 
of  the  centuries. 

"Near  our  anchorage,  that  morning  forty- 
eight  years  ago,  a  partly  burned  junk  was 
the  centre  of  interest;  the  red  boats  of  the 
river  police  surrounded  it  and,  from  an  open 


The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks     133 

sampan,  some  women  raised  a  loud,  insistent 
wail  of  lamentation. 

"Carter  was  officer  of  the  deck;  I  over- 
heard him,  joining  the  ship's  navigator,  in 
questioning  the  Chinese  river-pilot  who  had 
towed  the  Shenandoah  to  her  anchorage. 

'  How    come  ? '    inquired    the    navigator, 
pointing  toward  the  disabled  junk. 

:  'One-piecee  pirate,  catchee,'  answered  the 
pilot  gravely. 

"' Where  were  the  crew?  One  pirate 
couldn't  do  all  that!'  objected  Carter. 

"The  pilot  wrinkled  his  forehead  in  puzzled 
inarticulateness.  'One-piecee,  all-same  big 
gang/  he  explained;  'pirate  never  so  bad  be- 
fore on  Yangtze !  Catch-ee  junk,  kill-ee  crew, 
steal-ee  cargo!' 

"'What  are  the  officials  doing?  Why 
don't  they  get  after  the  pirates?'  asked  the 
navigator. 

: '  Have  try !  Polices-es  try !  Top-side 
mandarin  try !  Viceroy  try !  Then  all-ee  to- 
gether try !  No  can  do !  Pirate  every  time 
get  away,'  asserted  the  pilot  vehemently, 
then  lowered  his  voice;  'you  see' — he  pointed 
toward  the  wreck — 'junk  number-one  man 


134     The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks 

go,  last  week,  temple-side;  tell  Kwanyin 
when  him  start.  Tell  her,  very  loud,  of 
much-ee  money  cargo;  mak-ee  ofFring.  No 
matter !  Kwanyin  not  hear;  pirate  catch-ee, 
all-ee  same-ee !' 

'What  are  those  women  crying  about  ?' 
asked  Carter  as  a  louder  wail  pierced  the 
air. 

'Look-ee  see  if  husbands  still  there/ 
answered  the  pilot,  and  added,  with  the 
fatalistic  indifference  of  his  race:  'Husbands' 
bodies  have  float  Woosung-side  by  now!' 

"  'Poor  devils  !'  said  Carter. 

"The  pilot  paused  at  the  gangway-ladder. 
'Never  before  such  cruel  worse  pirates  on  all-ee 
Yangtze,'  he  said  as  he  disappeared. 

"I  joined  the  navigator  and  Carter  and 
asked :  '  Do  you  believe  in  pirates  ?  I  don't ! ' 
'No,'  answered  Carter;  'all  the  books  I 
got  for  Christmas,  when  I  was  a  kid,  were 
full  of  ghosts  or  pirates;  the  boy-buccaneer 
always  did  them  up,  easily.  But  those 
women  find  them  real  enough,'  he  added, 
as  the  forlorn  sampan-load  swept  by  us. 

"I  glanced  at  the  enticing  near-by  shore. 
'I'm  off  duty  this  afternoon.  When  your 


The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks      135 

watch   is  over,  let's  go   and  see  the   town. 
Tracy,  Morgan,  and  Rees  want  to  go,  too/ 

"  '  Don't  let  the  pirates  catch  you/  laughed 
the  navigator,  turning  away. 

"That  afternoon  we  had  our  first  intimate 
view  of  our  first  Chinese  city  with  its  crowded 
roads  and  its  busy,  toiling  people. 

"And  the  shops !  Open  to  the  street,  and 
apparently  bare  of  any  merchandise  until 
you  asked;  then,  like  a  magician's  trick,  out 
came  the  thick,  lustrous  silks,  the  colorful 
embroideries. 

"Carter  had  forsworn  cigarettes  months 
before,  and  now  the  reason  for  his  self-denial 
was  disclosed  as  he  proudly  acquired  a  length 
of  heavy,  glittering  brocade,  while  we  stood 
respectfully  by.  But  later,  when  he  paused 
entranced  before  a  tiny  Chinese  cap  to  be 
worn  by  a  baby  at  its  first  ceremonial,  we 
laughed  uproariously. 

:  'Getting  ready  for  a  dressy  second  child- 
hood, Carter  ?'  teased  Tracy. 

"Carter  flushed  and  mumbled  an  answer 
which  was  interrupted  by  Rees's  exclama- 
tion: 'Listen  to  that  temple-bell!' 

"  Boom  !  rang  the  bell.     Boom  !     Boom ! 


136     The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks 

-  boom  !  Boom — boom-boom.  The  clear, 
reverberating  notes  seemed  to  linger  in  the 
air. 

'  It  rings  like  a  signal !  Must  be  part 
of  the  temple  service,  but  doesn't  it  sound 
like  a  code  ?'  questioned  Rees. 

'Is  there  any  reason  why  we  shouldn't 
go  and  see  the  temple  and  pagoda  ?  I  can't 
see  why  they'd  object  to  our  looking  about; 
at  home,  we're  always  glad  to  show  strangers 
our  new  Congregational  Church,'  vouchsafed 
Tracy. 

'  Except  for  the  big  additions  to  the  store- 
housey-looking  buildings  on  each  side,  that 
temple  must  have  been  a  fossil  when  Christo- 
pher Columbus  was  cutting  his  first  tooth/ 
commented  Rees  dryly;  'wonder  what  they 
need  so  much  storeroom  for?' 
"'Let's  go  and  see,'  I  suggested. 
"The  temple  was  heavy  and  old  and  solid, 
with  large  connecting  storage-rooms  for  the 
safe-keeping  of  the  magnificent  and  valuable 
adjuncts  used  in  the  temple's  ceremonial 
services.  Outside,  a  slender,  seven-storied, 
memorial  pagoda  loomed  high,  overlooking 
the  river-valley  for  miles.  Inside,  on  the  dim 


The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks     137 

altar,  a  great  golden  Kwanyin  gazed  with 
placid,  unnoting  eyes  through  the  cloying 
blue  smoke  from  the  incense-burners.  In 
charge  were  a  young  priest  with  cowed,  half- 
witted expression,  and  an  old  priest  with  a 
sharp,  cruel  face  and  ugly,  clawlike  hands. 

"  *  Those  two  spoil  the  whole  thing/  grum- 
bled Tracy,  glowering  at  the  old  priest,  whose 
eyes,  since  we  entered  the  temple,  had  never 
left  us. 

"'I  wonder  which  one  rings  the  bell — 
and  where  is  the  belfry?'  inquired  Carter. 

"  'Belfry!'  ejaculated  Rees,  pointing.  The 
bell,  twenty  feet  high,  hung  in  a  dim  corner. 
We  went  to  examine  it. 

"  'That  bronze  is  a  foot  thick — and  look 
what  they  use  for  a  clapper !  The  trunk  of 
a  tree  swung  on  chains  from  a  beam  in  the 
ceiling  strikes  on  the  outer  rim.  No  wonder 
it  echoes ! '  exclaimed  Morgan. 

"Rees  touched  the  heavy  chains.  'It's 
balanced  to  work  like  a  watch/  he  admired, 
and  turned  toward  the  old  priest,  who  was 
watching  us.  'How  do  you  strike  that  signal 
we  heard  ?  Is  it  part  of  the  afternoon  ser- 
vice ?'  he  asked. 


138     The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks 

"'He  doesn't  understand  English,  Rees/ 
growled  Carter. 

"The  priest  came  nearer  and,  half  closing 
his  ugly  eyes,  demanded:  'What  for — you 
want  to  know  ?' 

"We  looked  at  him  in  startled  silence. 

"'What  for — you  come  here?'  he  asked 
sharply,  while  his  long,  clawlike  fingers  moved 
against  his  dirty  robe. 

"  'We  came  to  see  the  temple  and  pagoda. 
You  have  a  wonderful  view !  Nothing  can 
happen  on  the  river  that  you  can't  watch 
from  here,'  answered  Tracy  courteously. 

"The  priest  drew  a  sharp  breath  through 
his  closed  teeth;  it  sounded  like  the  hiss  made 
by  a  snake  that  is  coiling  to  strike. 

"'You  come  gunboat!  I  know!'  he 
snarled;  'what  for — you  come  Kiukiang-side  ? 
What — you  want — here  ?' 

"We  looked  at  him  in  amazement. 

'You  keep  away  from  Kwanyin's  tem- 
ple,' he  ordered.  'No  can  come  here!'  and 
hustled  us  out. 

'What  ailed  him?'  questioned  Carter 
explosively,  as  we  made  our  way  back  to 
the  Shenandoah.  'Are  you  fellows  going  to 


The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks     139 

let  him  chase  you  away  ?'  questioned  Rees  con- 
trarily.  '  We'd  better  keep  out  of  his  temple, 
but  I'm  going  to  the  pagoda  whenever  I  feel 
like  it !  It's  a  great  place  to  watch  everything/ 

"It  was.  We  went  there  every  time  we 
were  ashore,  and  as  long  as  we  loitered  about 
the  pagoda  the  old  priest  did  not  notice  us, 
but  any  step  toward  the  temple  or  around 
the  storehouses  brought  almost  instant  re- 
sponse. One  second  he  was  nowhere  in  sight, 
the  next,  'What  you  want — here?'  sounded 
shrilly  beside  us. 

"  'Who'd  want  to  smother  inside  that 
smoky  old  temple  when  there's  so  much  doing 
on  the  river?'  wondered  Rees,  idly  watching 
from  the  lowest  pagoda  platform  the  familiar 
swarm  of  red  police-boats  gathered  around 
a  big,  disabled  cargo  junk.  'The  pirates 
bagged  her  last  night,  hardly  a  mile  below 
here,'  he  volunteered,  and  added:  'I'd  like 
to  know  where  those  cutthroats  land  their 
loot  before  they  dispose  of  it  ?' 

"  'Maybe  the  old  priest  thinks  we  are  pi- 
rates !  He  couldn't  always  be  on  our  trail, 
as  he  is,  if  he  wasn't  keeping  an  eye  on  us,' 
soliloquized  Morgan. 


140     The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks 

'I'm  glad  some  one  is  interested.  I  call 
Kiukiang  pretty  dull,'  yawned  Carter,  glanc- 
ing indifferently  down  the  wide  valley.  Some- 
thing attracted  his  attention.  'Say,  fellows! 
Look  at  that  grove  of  trees  on  the  river-bank 
a  half-mile  outside  the  city  wall.  Can't  you 
see  what  seem  like  a  lot  of  chimneys  ?'  he 
questioned  excitedly. 

'They  look  like  the  chimneys  of  an  Amer- 
ican house!'  asserted  Morgan.  'Let's  go  up 
higher  and  get  a  better  view!' 

"Recklessly  we  climbed  the  crumbling 
circular  stairs  and  came  out  on  the  pagoda's 
highest  platform. 

'That  is  a  real  house !  Maybe  some  nice 
girls  live  there.  It  isn't  very  far/  suggested 
Rees. 

:  'All  the  way  up-hill  through  the  city — 
and  then  along  the  shore  in  the  sun,'  com- 
plained Tracy. 

"Carter  was  leaning  far  out  over  the  stone 
balustrade.  'You  needn't  go  up  to  the  city 
gate.  There's  a  narrow,  comparatively  new 
opening  right  back  of  the  storehouse — and  a 
path,  nearly  the  whole  way  over  to  that  house, 
in  the  shadow  of  the  wall/  he  said  quietly. 


The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks     141 

"We  clung  to  the  railing  and  looked  where 
he  pointed. 

"'Who'd  use  that  path  and  gate?'  won- 
dered Morgan. 

"  'We'll  go  over  and  find  out/  said  Carter, 
leading  the  way.  We  followed  and,  rounding 
a  corner  of  the  storehouse,  came  suddenly 
upon  the  old  priest  emerging  from  a  small 
doorway.  Beyond  him  the  half-light  showed 
a  big  room  piled  high  with  bales,  casks,  and 
boxes.  The  old  priest  turned;  as  his  glance 
rested  on  us  his  face  grew  livid  with  anger, 
and,  pulling  the  door  sharply  shut  behind  him, 
he  confronted  us — his  ugly  eyes  half  closed. 

"'What  for — you  come  this  side?'  he  de- 
manded in  a  tone  of  snarling  fury. 

"  'We  want  to  get  out.  I  just  discovered 
this  gate  from  the  pagoda.  Sorry  if  we  startled 
you,'  explained  Carter,  as  he  opened  the  nar- 
row, heavy  postern. 

'  I  wonder  why  it  wasn't  locked — the 
gate  ?  And  what  kind  of  religious  pageants 
call  for  all  the  stuff  he  had  stacked  in  that 
storeroom?'  questioned  Tracy. 

"'I  can't  understand  why  he  has  taken 
such  a  dislike  to  us —  Listen  to  that  bell! 


142     The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks 

It  must  echo  for  miles  up  this  quiet  valley!' 
exclaimed  Rees  as  we  followed  the  long  path 
across  the  moor  and  in  between  two  granite 
gateposts. 

"'But  this  isn't  a  house — it's  a  palace!' 
cried  Tracy,  pausing.  'Look!  What  does 
it  say  on  that  column  ?  It's  a  Chinese  at- 
tempt at  English  lettering.' 

"  'The  Hollyhocks,'  read  Rees  slowly  and 
glanced  about.  'There  seems  to  be  some 
sort  of  garden  on  the  river-bank.  I  can  see 
a  lot  of  weather-stained  stone  benches.  And 
look  at  those  porches,  up-stairs  and  down, 
connected  by  an  outside  staircase.' 

"Hesitatingly  we  approached.  All  the  win- 
dow-panes were  gone.  'Let's  see  the  inside 
of  the  house — there's  no  one  living  here/ 
proposed  Carter,  swinging  himself  over  the 
low  sill. 

"We  explored  the  large  wings — a  succes- 
sion of  enormous  empty  rooms — and  came 
out  finally  into  the  wide  hall  that  ran  through 
the  centre  of  the  house. 

'Not  a  stick  of  furniture — unless  you 
count  these  barrels  and  kegs,'  said  Tracy, 
sitting  down  on  one. 


The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks     143 

"'It's  rather  a — pathetic  place,'  com- 
mented Rees  slowly.  'The  man  who  had  it 
built  was  evidently  trying  to  copy  from  mem- 
ory some  house  he  had  loved  at  home,  and 
the  Chinese  workmen  either  stupidly  or  wil- 
fully outwitted  him.  He's  told  them  "wide 
stairs" — and  look !  Those  are  at  least  four- 
teen feet  across  and  as  steep  as  a  ladder.  I'm 
sure,  too,  that  he  didn't  order  that  foot-high 
banister  with  the  Chinese  carved  hand-rail.' 
'Who  ever  built  a  house  like  this  in  such 
a  hidden,  remote  place  ?'  wondered  Morgan. 
'  Some  poor  duffer  who  had  to  clear  out 
of  his  own  country.  Must  have  done  some- 
thing pretty  bad  to  need  to  hide  so  far  off  the 
beaten  track  as  Kiukiang,'  answered  Rees. 

"Carter's  investigations  had  led  him  to  a 
window  overlooking  the  river  and  garden; 
he  gave  a  sudden  exclamation.  'Come  and 
see  the  hollyhocks  ! '  he  cried. 

"There  they  were — pink,  crimson,  and 
white;  truants  from  the  half-obliterated 
flower-beds  whose  borders  of  dead  box  bushes 
showed  long  neglect.  But  the  hollyhocks 
seemed  visibly  to  rejoice  in  the  misfortune 
that  gave  them  their  liberty,  for  they  swarmed 


144     The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks 

up  the  slope  in  a  blur  of  color,  erect  and  defiant 
in  the  hot  sunshine. 

"Carter  continued  his  observations. 
'There's  some  sort  of  little  harbor  dug  into 
the  bank,  and  a  sunken  path/  he  called  back 
from  the  veranda. 

"Behind  me  a  sharp  hiss  sounded.  I 
jumped,  and,  turning,  confronted  the  old 
priest,  his  face  such  a  distorted  mask  of 
malevolent  fury  that  I  stepped  back  appalled. 
He  asked  his  usual  question,  punctuating  it 
with  a  clawing  gesture  of  his  sharp,  ugly  fingers. 

"'What  you  do — here?'  he  demanded 
hoarsely. 

"  'Just  looking  around.  Do  you  happen 
to  know  who  built  this  house?'  inquired 
Morgan  with  mystified  politeness. 

"  'Why  you  come  here  ?'  snarled  the  priest. 

"'Why  shouldn't  we  come  here?  This  is 
an  American  house.  We've  more  right  here 
than  a  Chinaman,'  retorted  Rees. 

"'No  b'long  'Melcan!  B'long  Scotsman, 
allee-samee  Englis-man,'  asserted  the  priest 
sharply. 

"'Where  is  he — the  Scotchman?'  de- 
manded Carter  with  stern  brevity. 


The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks     145 

"  'Him  long  time  dead/  declared  the  priest 
defiantly,  and  pointed  to  a  low  mound  over 
which  the  hollyhocks  swept  in  a  colorful 
wave. 

"The  priest  came  a  step  nearer,  his  ugly 
eyes  gleaming  between  the  half-closed  lids. 
'Scotsman  not  like  strangers  people!  Like 
only  Chinaman/  he  said  harshly. 

'How  can  he  like  anything — if  he's  dead  ?' 
questioned  Tracy  with  soothing  literalness. 

'H'm  spee-rit  come  back/  whispered  the 
priest  eerily.  'Come  back  ev'ry  night!'  he 
asserted  with  guileful  malevolence.  'Better 
you  go  away — not  come  again.  Kiukiang 
man  not  dare  come  this  side !' 

"Carter  eyed  him  with  amused  tolerance. 
'What's  your  game,  padre?'  he  asked.  'If 
the  Kiukiangers  are  afraid  it's  because  you've 
used  your  job  as  priest  to  frighten  them  away 
— as  you're  trying  to  scare  us !  I  can't  see 
anything  in  this  big,  lonely,  empty  house  to 
make  it  worth  your  while.' 

"  I  stepped  hastily  forward  as  the  old  priest 
raised  his  hands  toward  Carter's  face;  his 
voice  rose  to  a  frantic  shriek. 

'I  know  why  you  come  Kiukiang-side/ 


146     The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks 

he  snarled,  and  laughed  with  defiant  mirth- 
lessness.  'You — no — can  do!'  he  taunted, 
his  voice  husky  with  rage;  'now — get  out!' 
he  ordered. 

"  'Get  out  yourself—-'  began  Rees,  but  Car- 
ter intervened.  'What's  the  use  of  making 
him  any  madder  than  he  is,  Rees  ?  It's 
nothing  to  us!'  he  said  calmly,  and  turned 
to  the  priest. 

"'Cool  down,  padre,'  he  advised  with 
cheerful  solicitude.  'No  one  wants  to  get 
your  riverside  residence  away  from  you. 
But  don't  flatter  yourself  that  you  scared 
us  with  that  ghost-story.' 

"  '  Do  you  think  there  really  is  a  ghost  ? ' 
I  asked,  as  we  went  back  toward  the  city. 

"'I'd  say  no  if  we  were  at  home — but 
this  is  China,  and  the  Chinese  are  mortally 
afraid  of  the  spirits  of  their  ancestors ! 
They're  always  making  offerings  to  propitiate 
the  dead  and  induce  them  to  stay  where  they 
are,'  volunteered  Morgan. 

:  'Ghost-stories  always  begin  by  having 
the  person  who  is  to  see  the  ghost  say,  "I 
don't  believe  in  them,"  '  soliloquized  Tracy 
comfortably. 


The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks     147 

" '  If  the  ghost  at  The  Hollyhocks  comes 
back,  it's  probably  because  he  wants  to  see 
his  flowers/  I  said  with  a  little  homesick 
quiver  in  my  voice. 

"'Ghost  nothing!  That  old  Lothario  of 
a  priest  probably  meets  some  Chinese  Mary 
Jane  there,  and  he  doesn't  want  his  tryst 
chaperoned/  laughed  Carter. 

;  'I've  always  wanted  to  see  a  ghost/  ad- 
mitted Rees  reflectively.  'If  I  thought  this 
Chinese  variety  really  comes  back  I'd  go 
there  and  stay  until  I'd  seen  it.' 

'Ugh/  shivered  Tracy,  adding  quickly, 
'anyhow,  you  can't  get  to  The  Hollyhocks. 
The  city  gates  close  at  sundown.' 

'"What  are  city  gates  to  us?'  questioned 
Rees  airily.  'There  are  always  a  dozen  sam- 
pans within  hail  of  the  ship;  it  wouldn't  be 
a  half-hour's  row.'  He  warmed  to  the  ad- 
venture. 'Let's  go  to-night !  Anything  might 
happen  in  China  !  It  would  be  an  experience 
to  see  a  real  ghost !  And  if  the  old  priest  was 
trying,  for  reasons  of  his  own,  to  frighten  us 
away,  we'll  show  him  that  his  fairy-tale  didn't 
work ! ' 

"Carter  laughed  and,  at  my  look  of  sur- 


148     The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks 

prise,  explained  rather  lamely:  'I  was  just 
thinking — how  foolish  the  old  priest  would 
feel/ 

Til  go — if  the  rest  of  you  go — but  I 
don't  want  to,'  lamented  Tracy. 

"Carter  eyed  us  speculatively.  'Bet  you 
won't  do  it  this  evening!  Bet  you'll  back  down 
when  it  gets  dark !'  he  teased  incitingly. 

'Bet  we  won't !'  chorussed  Rees,  Morgan, 
and  I. 

"'Aren't  you  coming,  Carter?'  asked 
Tracy,  grasping  at  a  straw. 

'I  certainly  am!'  promised  Carter  with 
disarming  sincerity.  I  mistrusted  his  tone — 
he  had  played  many  a  joke  on  me — but  I 
could  give  no  reason  for  my  suspicions. 

"We  left  the  ship  at  half  past  eight  that 
night — and  Carter  was  not  with  us,  for  just 
as  we  started,  an  orderly  stopped  him  with 
a  message. 

'The  navigator  would  like  Carter's  help 
in  correcting  a  compass:  it  would  take  the 
whole  evening.' 

"Carter  turned  back,  after  urging  us  to 
go  ahead.  'You  seem  to  have  lost  your  in- 
terest in  ghosts,  Carter,'  growled  Tracy  as 


The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks     149 

we  boarded  a  sampan,  while  Carter,  without 
answering,  leisurely  watched  us  from  the 
Shenandoah's  deck. 

"I  hated  the  whole  adventure  before  we 
even  entered  the  house — which  loomed  enor- 
mously black  and  portentous  under  a  starless 
sky.  We  chose  to  stay  in  the  large  room  at 
the  foot  of  the  staircase  ('ghosts  always  de- 
scend the  stairs/  volunteered  Rees)  because 
of  the  barrel,  which  we  used  for  a  table,  and 
the  kegs  which  served  us  as  seats.  We  had 
brought  a  couple  of  candles  and  a  pack  of 
cards,  and  we  started  a  game  while  we  waited 
for  the  promised  visit  of  the  punctual  ghost. 

"We  played  several  cheerful  rounds,  while 
the  conversation  swung  from  the  Naval 
Academy  to  our  various  home  towns  and  out 
across  the  Pacific  to  the  Shenandoah  and  our 
months  of  uneventful  cruising.  For  unevent- 
fulness  this  was  proving  a  banner  evening 
except  that  Tracy  won  steadily  at  cards — 
hitherto  an  unknown  proceeding  for  him. 
Morgan  did  not  like  to  lose;  Tracy  and  he 
had  several  arguments. 

"I  stifled  a  yawn.  'Are  you  fellows  plan- 
ning to  stay  after  quarter  to  twelve  ?  I  told 


The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks 

the  sampan  man  to  come  back  for  me  then; 
I  have  the  mid-watch.  It's  five  minutes  past 
eleven  now/  I  said. 

'I  call  this  pretty  dull/  grumbled  Rees. 
'We'd  have  had  more  fun  in  Kiukiang.  Listen 
to  that  racket !' 

"From  the  distant  city  came  the  noise  of 
some  kind  of  ceremony.  We  could  hear  the 
clanging  metallic  crash  of  cymbals,  the  high, 
shrill  call  of  trumpets,  the  wailing  of  voices, 
and,  across  it,  like  a  great  unhurrying  pulse, 
the  temple-bell  struck  in  a  stately,  measured 
cadence. 

'What's  all  the  uproar  about?'  ques- 
tioned Morgan. 

'Probably  the  funeral  services  for  the 
men  murdered  on  the  junk/  I  volunteered. 

'Who  ever  heard  of  a  funeral  where  they 
didn't  have  a  corpse  ?'  demanded  Tracy. 

'There's  lots  you  haven't  heard  !  And, 
besides,  this  is  China/  asserted  Morgan  with 
incontestable  finality. 

"The  discussion  ceased  for  lack  of  par- 
ticipants. 

"Rees  listened  thoughtfully.  'Sounds  like 
a  signal — that  bell/  he  commented. 


The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks     151 

"  'You  say  that  every  time  you  hear  it 
ring/  Tracy  reminded  him,  and  added :  'Whose 
play  is  it  ? ' 

"  'Yours.  You  always  hold  up  the  game/ 
answered  Morgan  with  well-simulated  resig- 
nation. 

"Tracy,  with  guilty  haste,  played  a  wrong 
card;  a  heated  argument  ensued,  stilled, 
at  its  height,  by  Rees's  startled  question: 
1  What  was  that?' 

"From  somewhere  down  the  long  hall- 
way came  the  sound  of  a  door  swinging  on 
protesting  hinges — slowly,  with  complaining 
deliberation,  until  it  clicked  shut. 

'Wind/  explained  Morgan  uneasily. 

"  'There  isn't  any  wind/  Tracy  answered 
with  unnecessary  literalness. 

'Then  it  blew  shut  without  wind/  asserted 
Morgan  sharply.    'Your  play  again,  Tracy/ 

"We  played  for  several  minutes  in  silence, 
then  Rees  spoke.  'Queer  country!'  he  so- 
liloquized, as  he  straightened  the  wabbling 
candles.  'Think  of  the  fellow  who  built  this 
house — alone  here,  day  after  day,  night  after 
night,  fighting  the  solitude — and  the  ghastly 
silence !' 


152     The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks 

"'Maybe  the  pirates  dropped  in  some- 
times and  cheered  him  up/  I  suggested  flip- 
pantly. 

'He  was  dead  before  these  pirates  organ- 
ized. The  river-pilot  told  me  this  band  began 
operating  on  the  Yangtze  only  six  months 
ago/  said  Morgan. 

"  'I  don't  believe  that  pirate  yarn/  volun- 
teered Tracy,  and  paused  suddenly.  'What 
was  that  ?'  he  whispered. 

"From  directly  beneath  us  came  the  sound 
of  a  heavy  object  stealthily  rolled. 

"Morgan  jumped  up.  'We  are  bright!' 
he  said  with  withering  sarcasm.  'Did  any 
one  notice,  this  afternoon,  whether  there  is 
a  cellar  under  the  house  ?' 

"None  of  us  had. 

'I'm  not  going  to  prowl  around  this  huge 
barracks  looking  for  a  cellar  at  this  time  of 
night/  growled  Tracy  stubbornly. 

'With  only  two  half-burned  candles  for 
four  of  us/  I  supplemented. 

"Morgan  sat  down  and  took  up  his  cards. 
'It  was  the  echo  from  some  river-boat/ 
I  explained  in  shamefaced  apology.     'Your 
deal,  Tracy!'  I  added  sharply. 


The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks     153 

"  Morgan  broke  the  ensuing  silence.  *  Never 
before  was  I  in  an  empty  house  that  didn't 
seem  empty;  if  I  hadn't  been  all  over  it  I'd 
say  this  house  was  full  of  people,'  he  solilo- 
quized complainingly,  and  stared,  wide-eyed, 
into  the  dark  hall. 

'We  once  had  a  colored  cook  named 
Maud;  she  used  to  tell  the  awfullest  ghost- 
stories  !  I  can  see  her  now — rolling  her 
eyes  and  muttering,  "  What — does — I — see  ? 
Bl — o — o — d  !"  '  mimicked  Tracy  with  pains- 
taking attention  to  details. 

r  'Anybody  but  you  would  have  better 
sense  than  to  remember  that  story — at  such 
a  time  as  this,'  growled  Morgan  irritably. 

"  'Why  shouldn't  he  remember  it  ?'  I  asked. 
'Every  sensible  human  being  knows  that 
there  can't  be  such  a  thing  as  a  ghost — '  I 
stopped  suddenly.  Across  the  blackness  of 
the  hall  had  there  been  the  glimmering  white 
blur  of  a  face  ?  'It's  the  candle-light,'  I  tried 
to  reassure  myself. 

"Morgan's  eyes  were  fixed  intently  on  the 
open  window,  and  now  he  spoke  in  a  low, 
queer  voice.  '  I  must  say — it's  awfully  odd — 
but  I  can't  get  over  the  feeling  that  people 


iS4     The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks 

we  can't  see — are  watching  us,'  he  remarked 
disjointedly. 

"I  glanced  toward  the  window.  Outside, 
through  the  empty  sash,  I  could  see  the  nearest 
hollyhocks.  They  struck  in  me  a  chill  sense 
of  alien  treacherousness.  I  felt  suddenly  that, 
masquerading  as  kin  to  the  gentle  flowers  at 
home,  they  had  enticed  me  into  something 
sinister.  Surely,  the  serene  hollyhocks  in 
my  mother's  garden  could  not  stand  so  de- 
fiantly erect  against  the  waning  moon;  and, 
as  I  looked,  the  stalks  bent  sharply — I  held 
my  breath.  The  stalks  jumped  stiffly  back 
into  place.  Whatever  had  moved  them  was 
creeping — along  the  ground. 

'What  ails  you  ?  Dropping  your  cards 
all  over  the  place !'  demanded  Rees. 

"I  gathered  up  my  cards  and  played. 

"  'Why  doesn't  some  one  talk  ?'  complained 
Tracy  fretfully. 

'If  you  talked  less  and  paid  more  at- 
tention to  your  game— '  began  Morgan.  He 
stopped,  his  eyes  narrowing  intently;  and  I, 
following  his  glance,  saw  nothing;  but  on 
the  veranda  a  board  creaked  with  stealthy 
slowness  and,  as  I  shut  my  teeth  to  keep 


The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks     155 

them  from  chattering,  I  fancied  that  I  could 
hear  the  muffled  sibilant  hiss  of  feet  sliding 
across  the  bare  boards. 

"Rees  broke  the  silence.  'This  is  a  queer 
country;  nothing  happens  the  way  you'd 
expect  it  to !  Now,  at  home  no  one  could 
make  me  believe  enough  in  ghosts  to  sit  around 
like  this,  and  wait !  But  here  anything  seems 
possible/  He  paused  and  eyed  Tracy's  fright- 
ened face. 

"Tracy  moistened  his  lips.  'Just  how  do 
you  expect  a  Chinese  ghost  to  act?'  he  in- 
quired. 

''' '  Is  there  any  stereotyped  way  for  ghosts 
to  perform  ?'  asked  Morgan  sarcastically. 

'Why,  yes !  The  books  always  say: 
"Suddenly  a  cold  wind  swept  across  the 
room,"  or,  "Without  warning,  my  hair,  usu- 
ally worn  flat,  stood  straight  up  upon  my 
tingling  scalp,"  '  recited  Rees. 

"Tracy  interrupted.  'Our  colored  cook, 
Maud,  used  to  begin,  "In  the  dark  of  the 
moon,"  '  he  mimicked  sepulchrally,  but  Mor- 
gan cut  him  short  with:  'Can't  you  ever  play 
in  turn  ?  Don't  talk  !  Play !' 

"We    played    three    hands    in    silence — a 


i56    The  AdmnTs  Hofljrhocks 


it  was 


fcM  rf 


.  KK  SMMCHT  CQld  •  tfec  W2TIH 


The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks     157 


with  imrr  jsonnig  terror,  I  realized  tint  Tracy, 

•  _      " '-';  ;  '   1     ."  1  t         '•  t  r  ^     r".  't  "t    .'  ^."     '^.7.^'-*-     ". "     "_  1 

With  an  inarticulate  shoot  I  cavgjit  my  toot 

'.ri-'i  '.'z'z.'^j  r,~-  ~  -t  -}"-—?  --'-  "'— 
and,  carrying  it  with  mr,  pitched 

to  the  hal 


"I  moved;  a  sadden  stab  of 

me. 

"What  had  happened?    Who  had 
for  help : 

"Where  were  Tracy,  Morgan,  and  Rees? 
Wkat  kid  I  JaOoL  ooer?    Where  had 
running  men  been 


they  gone  ?    Why  had  they  run  ?    Were  they 

i_  *      xn_         t     _i   T    _j  i-       v         j 

gbosts  r    What  nan  1  done  ID  my  bade  wnen 

I  fell  to  make  it  hurt  so  abominably?  Why 
were  the  arm  and  side  I  was  tying  on  so  stMDy 
damp? 

"And  then,  quite  raiMrnly,  so  near  me 
that  I  felt  a  shudder  of  sick,  cold  fear,  I  heard 
a  shadowy  movement — the 
muffled  whisper  of  a  hand 


158     The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks 

along  the  plastered  wall.  Very  slowly  it  ad- 
vanced— paused — lingered  a  perceptible  time 
above  my  head — moved  on — hesitated — died 
away — and  stealthily  returned,  while  I,  lying 
in  a  motionless  crumpled  heap,  held  my  breath 
and  longed  for  the  power  to  muffle  the  loud 
beating  of  my  heart.  The  ghostly  sliding 
hand  came  near,  but  now  I  knew  that  no 
spectre  wielded  it,  for  a  foot  in  a  straw  sandal 
barely  brushed  my  cheek,  and  from  above 
me  came  the  sound  of  a  little  sharp,  hissing 
intake  of  breath.  This  time  the  groping  hand 
did  not  return.  Silence  closed  down  again. 

"For  a  long  while  I  lay  motionless,  afraid 
to  breathe,  but  as  the  slow  seconds  crept  by, 
the  pain  in  my  back  grew  to  be  unendurable. 
Cautiously  I  shifted  my  arm,  waited  for  the 
paroxysm  to  subside,  and,  emboldened  by  the 
unbroken  quiet,  agonizingly  changed  my  posi- 
tion. 

'There  was  no  answering  sound.  Little 
by  little,  stopping  when  the  pain  was  too 
sharp,  I  laboriously  raised  myself  on  my 
elbow,  and  felt  for  my  match-box. 

"A  faint  movement  came  from  the  hall 
above;  I  stiffened  into  silence  but  nothing 


The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks     159 

happened,  and  after  a  perceptible  time  I 
decided  to  try  again.  My  match-box  was 
crushed  under  me,  and  as  I  drew  it  forth  its 
clammy  adhesiveness  came  as  a  new  cause 
for  aggrieved  incomprehension,  which  deep- 
ened into  bewilderment  when  I  tried  to  strike 
a  match  and  found  it  crumpling  into  un- 
resisting limpness  against  the  flabby  box; 
not  until  several  useless  matches  had  increased 
my  mystification  did  I  have  the  success  of 
striking  one  into  feeble  light. 

"At  first  it  burned  fitfully,  but  enough  to 
show  that  the  wall  near  me  was  splashed 
with  curious  dark  stains.  I  glanced  from 
my  damp  sleeve  and  the  discolored  match- 
box in  my  hand  to  where,  around  me,  a  widen- 
ing pool  of  blood  spread  sluggishly  across 
the  hall.  Half  sick  with  terror  I  turned  upon 
my  elbow.  Beside  me,  his  limp,  twisted 
body  half  upon  the  stairs,  his  head  turned 
horribly  back,  his  throat  slit  from  ear  to 
ear — dead — lay  Carter.  I  stared  at  the  little 
dangling  charm  that  was  to  have  brought 
him  'safely  home/ 

"At  the  top  of  the  stairs  a  group  of  men 
with  cruel,  bestial  faces  crouched,  motionless, 


160     The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks 

behind  the  old  priest  whose  talon-like  fingers 
curved  hungrily  as  his  eyes  met  mine.  He 
started  forward. 

"From  the  river-bank  came  a  confusion 
of  sounds;  then  the  navigator's  voice  raised 
in  an  excited  call:  'Carter !  Sheldon  !  Where 
are  you,  boys  ? ' 

"The  men  on  the  landing  faded  noiselessly 
into  the  shadows.  I  could  never  prove  that 
I  had  really  seen  them. 

"The  rescuing  party  from  the  Shenandoah 
examined  the  whole  place,"  said  the  admiral 
grayly.  "They  only  found  one  clew:  the 
barrel  and  kegs  we  had  used  for  a  table  and 
seats  during  our  card  game  were  gone;  other- 
wise the  house  was  as  bare,  as  innocently 
non-committal,  as  a  sheet  of  still  water,  and 
in  the  garden  a  legion  of  flaunting  hollyhocks 
raised  unbroken,  flowering  stalks  to  greet  the 
dawn. 

"The  navigator,  sitting  among  them  on  a 
stone  bench  after  the  futile  search,  shook  an 
impotent  fist  toward  the  house,  and  spoke 
brokenly. 

"'Carter  came  to  me  just  after  you  re- 


The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks     161 

turned  to  the  ship  yesterday  afternoon,  and 
wanted  me  to  help  him  play  a  practical  joke. 
My  part  was  to  send  for  him  to  come  back — 
supposedly  to  fix  a  compass — just  as  he  was 
starting  with  you  last  evening  for  The  Holly- 
hocks. 

"  'I'm  not  enthusiastic  over  such  jokes, 
Carter/  I  told  him,  but  he  laughed  me  down. 
'They're  going  there  really  half  expect- 
ing to  see  a  Chinese  ghost!'  he  chuckled. 
'The  Hollyhocks  is  a  big,  lonely  house,  and 
when  they've  been  in  it  an  hour  they'll  begin 
to  feel  sort  of  spooky.  I'll  start  about  then 
in  another  sampan,  sneak  up  through  the 
garden,  creep  up  those  outside  stairs,  get  in 
through  a  window,  and,  after  yelling  and 
making  a  racket  over  their  heads,  dash  down 
the  stairs  and  guy  them !  Can't  you  hear 
old  Rees  trying  for  the  rest  of  his  days  to 
explain  why  he  ran  ? ' 

"The  navigator  groaned  remorsefully. 
'Carter  was  late  in  starting — the  mail  from 
the  States  was  put  aboard  by  an  up-river 
steamer;  it  had  been  four  months  on  the 
way  and  Carter  stopped  to  read  his  letters. 
If  only  I  had  stopped  him!'  said  the  navi- 


162     The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks 

gator  with  bitter  emphasis.  'But  how  could 
I  know  that  he  was  going  to  jump  into  the 
middle  of  the  pirate  gang  ?  When  he  yelled 
—to  scare  you — they  undoubtedly  thought 
he  was  one  of  the  river-police  summoning  his 
assistants;  and  the  pirates  would  infinitely 
prefer  a  fight  to  the  death  to  being  cap- 
tured. 

'The  fact  that  you  lads  didn't  prowl 
about,  and  that  Sheldon's  fall  knocked  him 
into  silence,  probably  saved  your  lives.  But 
poor  Carter—  The  navigator  covered  his 
eyes  with  his  hand;  then  started  up.  'Any- 
how, we'll  get  the  old  priest,'  he  said  tensely. 
"But  when,  through  our  testimony,  the 
Chinese  officials  went  to  investigate  the  ac- 
cumulation of  bales  and  boxes  in  the  temple 
storehouses,  they  found  the  old  priest  with 
stolid,  unwavering  eyes  offering  thanksgiving 
before  the  altar  of  the  Goddess  of  Mercy  for 
the  miraculous  preservation  of  her  shrine 
from  the  devastating  fire  that  had,  just  be- 
fore dawn,  gutted  the  storerooms.  Indeed, 
even  then  the  great,  golden  Kwanyin  looked 
with  serene,  uncognizant  indifference  through 
a  drifting  cloud  of  smoke.  Shortly  afterward 


The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks     163 

the  old  priest  disappeared;  I  never  heard 
just  how  they  disposed  of  him. 

"The  drastic  measures  taken  by  the  Chinese 
officials  broke  up  piracy  in  that  section  for  all 
time.  Since  then  pirates  have  flourished,  in- 
termittently, on  other  Chinese  rivers,  but 
never  in  the  Yangtze  valley " 

The  admiral  paused,  and  continued  slowly: 

"Blown  down  from  the  table  to  the  deck 
in  Carter's  cabin  on  the  Shenandoah,  Rees 
found  a  letter:  'Your  son,  John  Rowland 
Carter,  Junior,  was  born  to-day/  The  words 
stared  up  as  they  straggled  weakly  across 
the  unfolded  page.  It  had  arrived  the  eve- 
ning before — but  the  date  was  four  months 
old." 

The  admiral  unfolded  the  service  paper  he 
held,  and  pointed  to  a  paragraph  in  it.  "Cap- 
tain John  Rowland  Carter  to  command  the 
New  Mexico"  I  read. 

"You  asked  if  I  had  seen  a  ghost  ?  I  knew 
that  Carter's  son  had  entered  the  navy,  but 
I  had  lost  track  of  him — the  years  pass  so 
swiftly !  And  now  he  is  forty-eight  years  old 
and  goes  to  command  a  dreadnought — and 
I  am  an  old  man!"  The  admiral  smiled — a 


164     The  Admiral's  Hollyhocks 

wistful,  pathetic  smile — and  sat  looking  in- 
tently at  the  crowded  avenue.  Across  the 
way  the  florist's  assistant  had  finished  his 
task;  the  show-window  was  abloom  with 
the  exotic  lavender  of  hothouse  orchids.  The 
admiral  regarded  them  with  uninterested 
eyes.  "I  can't  tell  one  flower  from  another 
— except  hollyhocks;  but  I  know  them  every 
time"  said  the  admiral,  and  lapsed  into 
silence. 

I  made  several  comments,  but  he  did  not 
seem  to  want  to  talk  any  more.  I  was  dis- 
appointed !  You  see,  I've  been  through  such 
a  lot  of  bother  with  my  house,  and  more  espe- 
cially with  my  garden,  that  I  wanted  to  know 
whether  he  ever  found  out  any  more  about 
that  Scotch  fellow — the  one  that  had,  orig- 
inally, built  and  owned  The  Hollyhocks. 


VIII 
THE  DAY 

WHEN  representatives  of  foreign  govern- 
ments visit  the  United  States  it  is  customary 
for  our  State  Department,  through  the  Secre- 
taries of  the  Army  and  Navy,  to  order  two 
officers  of  junior  rank  to  act  as  aides  to  each 
visitor  during  his  stay  in  this  country. 

To  these  aides  falls  the  task  of  verifying 
all  engagements  and  of  accompanying  the 
visiting  dignitaries  to  all  official  and  semi- 
official entertainments  given  in  their  honor. 
During  the  days  of  their  stay  an  aide's  wife 
hears  of  her  husband  through  the  medium 
of  the  daily  papers;  he  is  so  busy  that  she 
rarely  sees  him. 

Perhaps  because  Lieutenant  Gordon  left 
on  a  destroyer  for  England  and  the  North 
Sea  patrol  very  soon  after  that  Sunday  at 
Mount  Vernon,  his  little  son — in  the  days 
when  the  color  faded  from  mother's  cheeks 

and   her  eyes  grew  big  from   scanning  the 

165 


The  Day 

newsless  newspapers,  or  watching  for  in- 
frequent letters — used  often  to  ask:  "Tell 
me  about  The  Day — that  day  on  the  May- 
flower" 

And  when  she  had  finished,  and  bedtime 
was  near,  mother  would  say:  "The  great 
Englishman  and  Frenchmen  who  put  the 
wreaths  on  General  Washington's  tomb  were 
Mr.  Balfour,  Monsieur  Viviani,  and  General 
Joffre;  but  I  never  heard  the  name  of  the 
officer  who  talked  to  me  longest.  Now  it's 
time  for  prayers — don't  forget  about  the 
little  children  like  you,  in  France." 

But  when  he  had  sleepily  asked  for  father's 
safe  return,  and  droned  out  his  A-men,  mother 
of  these  quieter  days  would  say:  "Go  on, 
Junior." 

Drowsily  he  added:  "Give  .  .  .  peace 
...  in  our  time,  0  Lord.  .  .  .  And  take 
not  .  .  .  thy  holy  spirit  .  .  .  from  us." 

Mrs.  Gordon,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  a  taxi- 
cab  seat,  realized,  as  she  drew  near  the  navy- 
yard  gate,  that  the  police  were  holding  back 
great  crowds  of  people  who  overflowed  into 
the  road  at  curbs  and  corners  and  peered 


The  Day  167 

expectantly  into  carriages  and  limousines. 
Everywhere  the  air  was  full  of  the  bright 
flutter  of  waving  flags. 

Was  it — could  it — be  possible  that  she, 
the  wife  of  a  lieutenant  in  the  navy,  was 
really  going  to  this  celebration  about  which 
the  newspapers  from  the  Atlantic  to  the 
Pacific  were  telling  their  readers  ? 

She  had  never  even  dreamed  of  such  an 
opportunity,  when  her  husband,  who  was 
acting  as  aide  to  one  of  the  visiting  com- 
missioners, had  telephoned  the  evening  be- 
fore: "Mollie!  What  do  you  think?  The 
secretary  has  just  asked  me  if  you  would 
like  to  go  down  to  Mount  Vernon  to-mor- 
row on  the  President's  yacht — the  Mayflower. 
There's  to  be  a  ceremony  at  Washington's 
grave,  and  about  a  hundred  people  are  asked. 

"I  told  the  secretary  you'd  be  only  too 
glad  to  go,  and  he  gave  me  a  card  for  you 
to  present  at  the  navy-yard  gate.  Be  there 
by  12.45.  .  .  .  What  ?  ...  Of  course  you 
can  leave  Junior  for  one  afternoon !" 

Mrs.  Gordon  gave  a  happy  sigh  and  looked 
out  of  the  taxicab  window.  The  crowds 
were  greater;  two  limousines  swept  past 


168  The  Day 

into  line  ahead,  slowing  down  to  enter  the 
single-team  gate  of  the  navy-yard.  There 
a  double  line  of  marines,  police,  and  secret 
service  men  examined  cards  and  scrutinized 
the  bearers. 

"Straight  ahead  to  the  river — then  two 
squares  to  the  right,"  the  sentry  directed, 
and  they  were  off,  down  a  wide  paved  road, 
in  the  wake  of  a  smart  victoria;  but  not  be- 
fore Mrs.  Gordon  was  conscious  that  from 
the  crowds  far  outside  the  gate  there  was 
arising  a  faint,  swelling  cheer. 

The  taxi  sped  on,  reached  the  water  street, 
swung  round  a  wide  circle,  and  slowing  down, 
crept  on  in  fitful  jerks,  and  stopped.  The 
door  opened;  Mrs.  Gordon  found  herself 
ascending  the  Mayflower's  gangway,  and  at 
the  top  shaking  hands  with  the  Secretary 
of  the  Navy. 

"I  am  Mrs.  Gordon,"  she  volunteered 
shyly. 

"Your  husband  isn't  here  yet — he'll  come 
with  the  commissioner,"  said  the  secretary 
kindly. 

Mrs.  Gordon  walked  to  the  rail  where  she 
could  watch  the  arriving  guests;  beyond  her 


The  Day  169 

the  band  stood  ready;  side-boys  awaited 
the  signal  of  a  boatswain's  mate;  forward, 
the  sailors  of  the  Mayflower  s  crew  watched 
silently. 

Carriages  and  automobiles  arrived  inter- 
mittently. Two  admirals  and  a  general  in 
uniform;  four  British  officers  in  khaki;  a 
member  of  the  cabinet,  his  wife  and  two 
daughters;  six  French  officers  in  light-blue 
uniforms  and  red  caps.  Then  a  pause,  and 
a  touring-car  full  of  secret  service  men  pre- 
ceded a  limousine;  from  it  stepped  a  tall 
man  with  a  ruddy,  kindly  face  and  white 
hair,  who,  as  the  band  played  the  opening 
bars  of  the  English  national  anthem  and 
every  one  stood  at  salute,  advanced  up  the 
gangway  holding  his  silk  hat.  Following, 
came  two  officers  and  a  younger  man  in  the 
uniform  and  the  small  peaked  cap  of  the 
Royal  Flying  Corps. 

On  deck  the  sentries  presented  arms,  the 
eight  side-boys  stood  at  attention,  while 
the  boatswain's  mate  finished  piping  only 
to  begin  again  immediately  as  the  band 
swung  into  the  "Marseillaise,"  and  a  small 
man  with  dark  hair  and  eyes  followed  the 


170  The  Day 

English  commissioner  up  the  sloping  gang- 
plank. 

Mrs.  Gordon,  flushing  with  interest  and 
enthusiasm,  leaned  against  the  rail.  "How 
nice  it  is  to  be  unimportant  and  not  know 
any  one !  I  don't  have  to  miss  a  thing,"  she 
thought  happily. 

A  few  more  motors  and  carriages  full  of 
officers  in  uniform  and  ladies  in  tailored  suits 
deposited  their  passengers  at  the  gangway. 
On  deck  people  talked  together,  or  were  pre- 
sented to  the  two  officials.  About  one  o'clock 
came  a  lull  in  the  arriving  vehicles,  and  then, 
far  away,  the  rumble  of  a  rising  cheer  that 
grew  nearer,  swelled  to  great  volume,  and 
suddenly  stopped. 

"That's  the  marshal!  Now  he's  inside 
the  navy-yard  gate,"  commented  an  officer. 

People  gathered  at  the  rail;  a  group  of 
navy-yard  workmen  stepped  forward  and  be- 
gan to  clap  as  three  automobiles  turned  the 
corner  and  sped  up  to  the  Mayflower.  From 
the  first  one  the  secret  service  men  sprang  out, 
but  from  the  second  an  officer  in  a  blue  coat, 
red  breeches,  gold-embroidered  cap,  and 
leather  puttees  descended  smiling,  saluted 


The  Day  171 

the  sentries,  and  started  up  the  gangway  to 
the  strains  of  the  French  national  anthem, 
while  on  deck  all  officers  stood  at  salute. 

Mrs.  Gordon  leaned  forward.  Behind  the 
marshal  some  aides  followed;  then  from  the 
third  motor-car  a  man  swung  himself  down 
and  with  difficulty  clambered  up  the  slop- 
ing walk.  His  uniform  was  blue;  his  tam-o'- 
shanter  cap  sat  rakishly  on  the  back  of  his 
head;  but  as  the  crippled  legs  carried  him 
haltingly  up  the  gangway,  his  eyes,  brave 
and  undaunted,  beamed  with  an  unquench- 
able smile. 

He  would  go  walking  agonizingly  all  his 
days  !  Mrs.  Gordon  felt  blindly  for  her  hand- 
kerchief. 

' '  Hulloa,  Mollie  !  What  on  earth  are  you 
crying  about  ?"  asked  a  cheerful  voice.  "Here, 
wipe  your  eyes."  Lieutenant  Gordon,  laugh- 
ing, stood  beside  her  and  offered  his  hand- 
kerchief. 

"When  did  you  come  aboard?  I  didn't 
see  you  !  But,  oh,  that  lame  officer — the  one 
that  smiles/'  she  exclaimed. 

"The  Chasseur  Alpine  ?  Don't  cry  about 
him !  His  spirit  is  forty  feet  high,  and  has 


172  The  Day 

wings.     Besides,  he  says  that  the  best  part 
of  him  is  American — that's  his  artificial  leg." 

Mrs.  Gordon  choked.  "I  could  bear  it 
better  if  he  wasn't  so  cheerful,"  she  said. 

"We're  off!  Let's  go  down  and  get  some- 
thing to  eat  while  I'm  not  needed.  I'll  have 
to  leave  you  to  shift  for  yourself  after  lunch- 
eon and  at  Mount  Vernon,"  explained  Lieu- 
tenant Gordon  as  they  joined  the  group  mov- 
ing toward  the  companionway. 

Lowering  his  voice,  he  added:  "Don't  be 
afraid  to  talk  with  any  one  who  speaks  to 
you.  Foreigners  don't  bother  about  intro- 
ductions like  Americans.  The  fact  that  you're 
both  at  the  same  party  is  enough  for  them. 
Just  forget  about  being  shy,  Mollie." 

Mrs.  Gordon  was  saved  from  answering 
by  the  crowd  that  engulfed  them  at  the  door 
of  the  dining-cabin.  It  was  a  "stand-up" 
luncheon  and  she  waited  while  her  husband 
helped  the  other  men  to  distribute  plates 
or  juggle  with  cups  and  glasses. 

"Here,  Mollie,"  he  said,  bringing  her  some 
salad.    "I'll  be  back  in  a  minute — yes,  sir- 
he  turned  quickly,  and  Mrs.  Gordon,  glanc- 
ing up,  met  the  kindly  smile  of  the  great 


The  Day  173 

marshal  and  saw  the  hand  outstretched  from 
the  many-starred  cuff. 

"I  have  pleasure  to  tell  you,  Madame  Gor- 
don, how  expediently  your  husband  looks 
out  for  us/'  said  the  marshal  in  French;  and 
she  stammered  a  few  words  of  thanks.  But 
after  he  had  passed  on  Mollie  Gordon  care- 
fully removed  her  white  glove  and  put  it 
in  her  pocket.  "If  only  I  can  remember 
every  little  thing  about  to-day  to  tell  Junior, 
when  he's  old  enough  to  understand !"  she 
thought  earnestly. 

Afterward,  sitting  alone  on  deck,  she 
watched  the  shore,  lovely  in  its  springtime 
green,  slide  by,  and  overheard  scraps  of  con- 
versation. 

The  bird-man  was  enlarging  on  the  joys 
of  flying  to  a  lady  who  owned  to  an  unreason- 
ing terror  when  looking  down  from  high 
places. 

"It  makes  me  dreadfully  ill,"  said  the 
lady  plaintively. 

The  aviator  was  cheerful.  "When  you 
get  up  six  thousand  feet  you  wouldn't  mind. 
Of  course  sometimes  when  you  turn  quickly 
and  one  wing  stands  vertically  above  your 


174  The  Day 

head,  and  you  look  straight  down  the  other 
wing  onto  the  roofs  of  a  town  below,  you 
mightn't  like  it,"  he  explained. 

The  lady  gasped.  "If  I  was  as  ill — in 
proportion — when  I  was  up  six  thousand  feet 
as  I  am  when  I'm  up  six  stories  .  .  ."  she 
commenced,  and  shuddered,  "you  can't 
imagine  just  how  ill  I  am,"  explained  the 
lady. 

On  the  other  side  of  Mrs.  Gordon  a  girl 
tried  in  halting  French  to  explain  the  time- 
honored  story  of  Washington  and  the  dollar 
that  was  skipped  across  the  Potomac. 

"C'est  une  joke  Americaine,"  she  told  the 
puzzled  Frenchman.  "Nous  disons:  une 
dollar  went  quatre  temps  as  far,  dans  those 
jours." 

The  officer  looked  grave.  "Then  costs  of 
living  have  been  of  a  height  always,  in  your 
country  ?  Potatoes,  four  dollars  a  bushel- 
in  the  days  of  Washington!"  he  exclaimed, 
and  shook  his  head  at  the  lovely  shore  of 
this  incredibly  expensive  land. 

The  news  of  the  Mayflower's  coming  had 
preceded  her;  every  tiny  pier  or  anchored 
boat  seemed  filled  with  cheering  people,  until, 


The  Day  175 

at  last,  on  a  long  stretch  of  river  road  they 
saw  the  black  mass  of  many  parked  auto- 
mobiles and  heard  the  shrill  roar  of  their  horns. 

A  French  officer  leaning  against  the  rail 
turned  and  spoke  directly  to  Mrs.  Gordon: 
"A  picnic?"  he  asked,  and  pointed  toward 
the  motors. 

Perhaps  because  the  eyes  under  the  red 
cap  were  both  sad  and  gentle  Mrs.  Gordon 
forgot  to  be  shy. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  answered;  "they've  come  to 
see  the  Mayflower — and  you  officers — go  past." 

The  Frenchman  looked  astounded.  "It  is 
long  since  I  have  seen  people  who  go  as  they 
like,  when  they  wish,"  he  said,  and  looked 
at  the  noisy  cars,  until  a  turn  in  the  river 
hid  them. 

Leaving  the  rail  he  sat  down  by  Mrs.  Gor- 
don: "Your  people — I  think  they  do  not 
realize — how  bad  it  is  in  my  country,"  he 
said  sadly. 

Mrs.  Gordon  felt  suddenly  sorry  for  him. 
"You  see,  we  only  read  about  it,"  she  ex- 
plained, "and,  of  course,  the  newspapers  ex- 
aggerate so  often  that  you  never  can  tell  if 
what  you  read  is  true." 


176  The  Day 

She  paused.  "Some  of  the  things  have 
been  so  dreadful  that  they  couldn't  be  true. 
I  wont  believe  them,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon. 

"They  couldn't  tell  all  the  truth — nor  a 
quarter  of  it,'*  said  the  Frenchman  bitterly. 

"But,  of  course,  burning  villages,  and  fight- 
ing, and  all  the  terrible  things  that  have 
happened  are  war,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon  hesitat- 
ingly. "People  tell  of  horrors,  but  they 
always  finish  by  saying  that  they've  read 
of  it,  or  some  one  has  told  them.  And  the 
stories  grow  with  each  repetition." 

The  Frenchman  looked  at  her.  "I  have 
seen"  he  said;  "but  you — perhaps  the  suffer- 
ing of  women  or  little  children  seems  to  you 
justified  by  war  ?" 

Mrs.  Gordon  flushed.  "No,"  she  answered 
gently;  "if  only  things  are  true  I  want  to 
sympathize — and  help — with  all  my  strength. 
But  does  anything  justify  war  ?  How  I  hate 
it !  "  she  cried. 

The  officer  was  silent;  then  as  if  rousing 
himself  from  painful  thoughts  he  spoke  slowly: 
"Until  war  was  declared  I  had  lived  all  my 
life  in  what  is  now  the  invaded  portion  of 
France.  Our  chateau  stood  on  the  rising 


The  Day  177 

ground  above  a  small  village;  it  has  seen 
many  armies  pass,  has  looked  upon  much 
unhappiness,  and  known  dark  times  during 
the  long  years. 

"  Do  you  know  the  old  chateaux  of  France, 
madame  ? 

"White  walls,  mullioned  windows,  sharply 
slanting  roofs,  pointed  towers — and  the  old 
gardens !  All  very  dear  to  you  when  they 
have  belonged  also  to  your  father's  father. 

"And  every  acquisition  or  addition — the 
new  wing,  some  coveted  acres  of  farm  land — 
one  makes  sacrifices  gladly  that  one's  grand- 
children may  say:  'That  my  father's  father 
secured/  or  'The  wing  was  built  during  the 
reign  of  Louis  XIII.' 

"My  home  was  like  that;  very  old,  very 
serene,  very  beautiful  above  its  sloping 
gardens  where  peacocks  sunned  themselves 
among  the  flowers. 

"Ahead  the  years  stretched  in  happy 
promise  for  us — my  young  wife,  my  little 
son,  and  I — in  our  home. 

"That  is  over. 

"  If  peace  were  declared  to-morrow  it  would 
make  no  difference." 


iy8  The  Day 

He  paused,  and  looked  at  the  grassy  shore 
smiling  in  the  spring  sunshine. 

"This  is  like  a  dream  to  me,"  said  the 
French  officer. 

He  raised  his  tired  eyes — eyes  through 
which  a  suffering  soul  asked  "why"  of  an 
unanswering  universe. 

"Perhaps  the  other  is  just  a  nightmare — 
from  which  I  shall  waken  to  find  everything 
as  before?"  he  asked  pitifully,  and  shivered 
in  the  warm  air. 

Mrs.  Gordon  sat  very  still. 

"You  are  kind  to  listen,"  said  the  officer. 
"Somehow,  as  I  look  at  your  happy  people 
I  feel  that  they  do  not  even  faintly  realize 
how  very  bad  it  is  in  my  country,  and  I  want 
to  shout  to  them  of  our  women  and  of  our 
little  suffering  children.  .  .  . 

"I  joined  my  regiment  on  that  August 
day,  nearly  three  years  ago;  my  wife  stayed 
in  her  home,  bravely  bidding  me  farewell, 
and  telling  me  that  she  could  very  well  look 
out  for  the  farms  and  the  peasant  women 
in  the  village.  .  .  . 

"How  clearly  half-forgotten  details  return 
when  life  means  one  long  remembering.  .  .  . 


The  Day  179 

"We  had  in  our  hamlet  an  old  woman — 
crazed  since  those  days  in  '70  when  she  saw 
her  young  husband  slain — Joan  her  name, 
quite  harmless  she  was,  and  very  old;  those 
who  may  not  think,  live  long — is  it  not  so, 
madame  ?  And  always  old  Joan  carried 
with  her  the  musket  and  ammunition  pouch 
of  her  dead  husband.  So  usual  on  summer 
evenings  was  the  sight  of  her  walking  up  and 
down,  the  gun  over  her  shoulder,  that  even 
the  children  gave  no  attention  to  her.  .  .  . 

"On  the  day  when  I  left  to  join  my  regi- 
ment she  appeared  at  the  long  window  of 
the  morning-room,  her  eyes  blazing,  her 
shrunken  figure  miraculously  tall,  and  point- 
ing to  my  wife  and  child  bade  me  bid  them 
good-by. 

'You  go!'  she  cried  shrilly,  and  dropped 
her  voice  to  a  fearful  whisper;  'they  come — 
like  waves  of  the  sea,  or  leaves  of  the  forest- 
trees  driven  before  a  wind.  I  ...  can  hear 
them !  Bid  her  .  .  .  and  your  son  .  .  .  fare- 
well.' 

"Lifting  the  old  musket  she  seemed  to 
listen;  moaning  she  turned  away. 

'  Poor  soul !     The  gossip  of  the  village 


180  The  Day 

has  brought  back  to  her  dim  mind  memories 
of  the  old  days.  I  must  take  care  of  her,' 
said  my  wife. 

"My  wife  ...  if  I  had  known,  as  I  bade 
her  au  revoir,  would  I  ...  could  I  ...  have 
left  her  ? 

"Almost  at  the  first  our  hamlet  was  sud- 
denly surrounded  and  taken.  No  message 
or  letter  ever  reached  me  during  the  long 
months;  I  have  known  what  it  is  to  suffer, 
madame,  but  my  imagination  was  too  feeble 
to  picture  what  had  really  happened. 

"Twice  the  enemy  have  occupied  our  village 
—once  advancing,  once  retreating — and  at  last 
came  a  day  when  I  could  again  visit  it.  ... 

"I  could  hardly  find  it.  ... 

"Only  by  the  roofless  ruins  of  the  church 
could  I  tell.  My  home  lay  a  tangled  mass  of 
twisted  iron  and  jagged  granite,  where  al- 
ready the  trampled  trellises  of  climbing  roses 
were  sending  long  tendrils  over  the  piles  of 
masonry. 

"In  the  village  no  house  remains — only 
sometimes  a  whitened  skeleton,  bleaching  in 
the  sun  and  rain,  among  the  crumbling  bricks 
.  .  .  and  living  in  the  ruins  of  the. .church,  our 


The  Day  181 

old  cure,  like  a  hunted  animal  .  .  .  fearing 
the  light  of  day.  When  he  saw  me  he  cov- 
ered his  face  with  his  shaking  hands. 

"I  hardly  knew  my  own  voice  as  I  asked 

him:  'My  wife  and  baby ?' 

'Dead/  he  whispered,  'long  dead/ 

"Little  by  little  he  told  me  the  story: 
When  the  peasant  women  found  escape  im- 
possible they  fled  with  their  children  to  our 
chateau.  Old  Joan  and  the  cure  followed. 
Very  soon  officers  of  the  enemy  came,  de- 
manding quarters,  in  voices  both  suspicious 
and  brutal.  My  wife  faced  them  calmly. 

"  'We  are  but  women  in  this  house;  our 
young  children  are  in  the  rooms  above.  Of 
food  there  is  very  little/  she  told  them. 

"But  already  the  older  officer  was  look- 
ing closely  at  her;  very  young  and  fair,  she- 
seemed,  against  the  faded  tapestries  of  the 
hallway.  On  the  landing  behind  her  the 
peasant  women  were  suddenly  very  still,  and 
the  cure,  seeing  the  officer's  leering  glance, 
feared  for  her,  and  stepped  forward. 

{"I  am  the  priest  of  madame's  church/ 
he  said;  'perhaps  if  you  will  tell  me  what  is 
needed ' 


1 82  The  Day 

"Cursing,  the  officer  turned  and  shouted 
an  order;  violent  hands  were  laid  upon  the 
cure — who  is  old — and  he  was  hustled  out- 
side; but  even  as  he  went  a  scream  from  the 
women  on  the  stairs  made  him  turn  his  head 
and  shout  a  warning.  Above,  on  the  high 
balcony,  crazy  Joan,  attracted  by  the  noise, 
had  watched  and  listened;  then,  with  care, 
levelled  and  fired  the  old  musket.  .  .  . 

"My  wife  fell.  Only  in  her  brave,  agonized 
eyes  could  you  read  the  terror  voiced  in  the 
whispered  words:  'My  baby!' 

"The  officer  hardly  noticed  her;  he  was 
beside  himself  with  anger  and  fear. 

'That  shot  was  meant  for  me!  We'll 
teach  these  women  better  than  to  shoot  at 
His  Majesty's  officers,'  he  shrieked.  .  .  . 

"Of  what  happened  to  the  living  women 
the  cure  refused  to  speak.  Hiding  his  face 
in  his  shaking  hands  he  could  only  weep 
the  difficult  tears  of  age  and  terror. 

'But  the  children,'  I  cried,  'the  weak,  un- 
offending children.  .  .  .  ?' 

"Tears  coursed  down  the  cure's  face. 

'They  were  locked  in  that  upper  room — 
those  who  did  not  starve  to  death,  perished 


The  Day  183 

in  the  bombardment  of  the  chateau,  for  the 
soldiers  looted  and  fired  on  it  as  they  were 
going,'  said  the  cure. 

"...  Before  I  left  him  we  went  together 
into  the  ruined,  roofless  church,  and  as  I 
turned  from  the  empty  holes  that  had  been 
the  great  windows,  to  where  above  the  high 
altar  the  crucifix  hung,  I  started  back  in 
horror.  They  had  hacked  the  carven  Christ 
from  the  cross,  and  nailed  in  his  place  a  black 
cat;  everywhere  .  .  .  blood-stains  showed 
how  the  poor  animal  had  pitifully  tried  to 
tear  itself  free.  .  .  ." 

The  officer  paused;  the  knuckles  of  his 
clinched  hand  showed  white  against  the  blue 
of  his  uniform,  his  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper: 
"Those  people  have  no  mercy  on  women, 
children,  or  dumb  beasts — nor  any  fear  of 
God/'  he  said,  and  the  look  of  suffering  came 
back  into  his  heavy  eyes.  "  But  whenever  I 
am  alone — when  I  waken  in  the  night,  or 
stand  in  the  quiet  of  your  peaceful  coun- 
try .  .  .  she  calls  to  me — my  wife.  And 
plainly  I  can  hear  the  pitiful  wail  of  a  starv- 
ing, wounded  baby  .  .  .  and  know  that  it  is 


.  mine." 


1 84  The  Day 

He  stopped  and  looked  about  dazedly. 
"Forgive  me,  madame,"  he  said,  "I  have 
no  right  ...  to  burden  you  with  my  sor- 
rows. But  what  is  this  ?" 

The  ship's  bell  had  commenced  to  toll. 

"We  are  passing  Washington's  tomb," 
said  Mrs.  Gordon;  about  them  every  person 
was  rising  to  their  feet.  Slowly  and  sweetly 
the  bugle  sounded  taps;  clearly  it  echoed 
across  the  placid  river  to  where,  on  the  hill- 
side, a  white  house  gleamed  in  the  serene 
sunshine;  below  it  showed  the  roof  of  the 
simple  vault  of  brick  wreathed  in  ivy  and 
blossoming  wisteria,  and  surmounted  on  this 
day  by  the  flags  of  England,  France,  and 
America. 

On  the  deck  of  the  Mayflower  statesmen 
and  officers  stood  with  bared  heads  or  at  sa- 
lute while  the  strains  of  "The  Star-Spangled 
Banner"  rang  out  across  the  waiting  launches, 
and  echoed  back  from  the  hillside  dotted 
with  the  white-and-pink  of  blossoming  trees. 

And  later,  when  Mrs.  Gordon  had  listened 
to  the  short  martial  speeches  and  had  seen 
the  English  and  French  representatives  pass 
under  the  lifted  grating  to  lay  upon  the  tomb 


The  Day  185 

a  great  circle  of  lilies  and  oak  leaves,  and 
the  bronze  wreath  and  palm-branches  con- 
secrated by  long  usage  to  the  heroic  French 
dead,  she  stood  for  a  few  minutes  to  look 
silently,  absorb,  and  remember  always  every 
detail  pertaining  to  this  historic  afternoon, 
and  noticed  for  the  first  time  a  marble  slab 
let  into  the  wall  above  the  tomb. 

"I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life." 

The  beautiful  words  come  deathlessly  down 
the  years;  but  most  often  he  who  spoke 
them  urged  pity  for  the  oppressed,  and  al- 
ways, with  insistence,  he  demanded  kindness 
to  little  children. 

Mrs.  Gordon  felt  a  sudden  tightening  in 
her  throat;  all  the  glamour  of  this  wonderful 
day  was  swept  aside  by  an  overwhelming 
wave  of  longing  for  her  quiet  home,  her  hus- 
band, and  her  baby. 

But  through  a  blur  of  tears  she  saw  the 
flags  of  France,  England,  and  America  waving 
together  over  the  tomb  of  Washington,  and 
knew  that  the  road  along  which  women  shall 
go  until  "wars  shall  cease"  was  to  be  hers — 
already  her  feet  were  set  on  its  tortuous  path- 
way. 


IX 
HOLDING  MAST 

FROM  the  register  of  the  United  States 
Navy  the  wooden  ships  are  gone,  with  John 
Paul  Jonesy  Decatur,  and  Farragut,  to  some 
serene  harbor  beyond  the  most  distant  hori- 
zon line,  and  of  the  ship  life  of  their  day  but 
one  custom  persists. 

It  was  the  rule  on  those  old  sloops  of  war 
that  any  sailor  under  arrest,  awaiting  sen- 
tence and  having  a  complaint  to  make  or  a 
grievance  to  air,  took  his  stand  by  the  main- 
mast,  and  asked  to  speak  with  the  captain; 
this  was  his  right. 

The  white  sails  are  gone.  On  our  great 
steel  ships  no  sign  of  them  remains,  but  every 
day,  at  a  given  hour,  on  each  dreadnought, 
battleship,  cruiser,  and  destroyer  of  the  United 
States  Navy  the  captain  "holds  mast." 

Seven  bells. 

On  the  quarter-deck  of  the  gray  dread- 
nought anchored  in  the  harbor  the  morning 

186 


Holding  Mast  187 

sunlight  gleamed  on  a  little  group  of  sailors 
and  petty  officers  who,  as  "witnesses," 
gathered  and  formed  in  line  for  the  morn- 
ing's mast. 

Around  the  great  triple  gun-turret  the 
master-at-arms  marched  the  prisoners,  two 
by  two,  and  lined  them  up  at  right  angles 
with  the  witnesses. 

"Don't  be  forgettin'  that  you  steps  for- 
ward and  takes  off  your  cap  when  your 
name's  called,  and  don't  look  scared  to  death 
— there  ain't  no  can-o-bulls  present,"  ad- 
monished the  master-at-arms.  "Say  what 
you've  got  to  say,  and  when  you're  ordered 
to  'stand  aside,'  put  your  cap  on  and  step 
back  into  line.  This  ain't  no  trial !  It's  just 
a  chance  for  you  to  tell  your  side  of  things." 

The  prisoners  eyed  him  silently,  except 
one  youth  who  inquired  of  his  neighbor  in 
a  surly  whisper  what  was  "th'  use  of  tellin' 
the  captain  anything  ?  Nuthin'  happens  to 
him  like  happens  to  us!" — then  transferred 
their  attention  to  the  yeoman  with  the  re- 
port book,  who  took  his  place  just  as  the 
executive  officer  crossed  the  deck  and  knocked 
at  the  door  of  the  captain's  cabin. 


i88  Holding  Mast 

"Mast  is  ready,  sir,"  announced  the  execu- 
tive, and  waited,  while  the  captain  finished 
signing  some  papers  and  took  up  his  cap. 

"I've  gone  over  the  case  of  that  fellow 
who  takes  drugs,"  said  the  executive;  "we've 
done  all  we  can  for  him.  The  doctor  says 
it's  no  use — he  hasn't  the  backbone  to  quit; 
let  him  go  ashore,  and  the  same  thing  hap- 
pens. Big  mast  this  morning;  but  the  other 
cases  are  the  usual  things." 

The  captain  nodded.  "I  suppose  when 
you  have  one  thousand  and  thirty  men,  of 
the  average  age  of  twenty-one  years,  you 
can  expect  a  fair  amount  of  ingenuity  for 
getting  into  trouble,"  he  remarked  as,  fol- 
lowed by  an  orderly,  they  stepped  out  on 
the  quarter-deck. 

"Attention!  Salute!"  commanded  the 
master-at-arms  to  the  prisoners. 

The  captain  returned  the  salute  and,  paus- 
ing, scanned  the  yeoman's  report  book. 
"Carry  on,"  he  said. 

"Mark  Simmons.  Reported  by  the  officer 
of  the  deck  for  overstaying  liberty  eight 
hours,"  read  the  yeoman. 

The  captain  looked  carefully  through  the 


t 
£ 


Holding  Mast  189 

record.  "First  report  against  you  in  the 
three  years  you've  been  on  this  ship,  Sim- 
mons. What  kept  you  ?" 

The  sailor  shook  his  head. 

"Were  you  drunk?"  asked  the  captain. 

Again  the  dumb  head-shake. 

"Anything  to  say?"  suggested  the  cap- 
tain. 

"No,  sir,"  answered  Simmons  faintly. 

The  captain  hesitated,  then  turned  away. 

"James  Collins.  Charged  with  being  asleep 
while  on  duty.  Reported  by  the  boatswain's 
mate  in  charge  of  the  watch,"  read  the  yeo- 
man. 

The  boy  stepped  forward  and  took  off  his 
cap. 

"Sleeping  on  duty,  Collins  ?  What  ailed 
you  ?"  asked  the  captain. 

"Nuthin',  sir,"  the  sailor  answered.  "This 
is  my  first  cruise,  and  I  just  can't  hold  me 
eyes  open — went  to  sleep  standin'  right  up 
straight !  I  ain't  never  been  near  the  ocean 
before,  and  I'm  perishin'  to  sleep  all  the 
time." 

"If  every  man  went  to  sleep  when  he  felt 
like  it  how  long  do  you  think  this  ship  would 


190  Holding  Mast 

last?"  asked  the  captain.  "I'll  have  to  give 
you  a  summary  court,  Collins,  and  remember 
this :  if  ever  you  are  given  an  important  post 
in  war-time,  and  you  sleep  on  it,  you  are 
liable  to  receive  the  severest  punishment  that 
can  be  inflicted." 

"Stand  aside,"  the  master-at-arms  ordered. 
Collins  stepped  back  into  line. 

"Thomas  Jenkins,  Carl  Jones,  coal-passers, 
reported  by  the  water-tender  for  fighting," 
read  the  yeoman. 

"What  were  you  fighting  about?"  asked 
the  captain. 

Jenkins,  burning  with  righteous  wrath, 
answered:  "Every  time  I  gets  the  bright 
work  all  shined  up,  he  comes  in  and  turns 
on  the  steam !  Says  'he's  tryin'  out  the 
valves,'  and  when  I  asks  him  why  don't  he 
try  'em  out  when  the  brasswork's  dirty  he 
laughs!" 

"Well,  Jones?"  asked  the  captain. 

Jones  grinned  unhappily.  "Get  tired  o' 
seein'  him  forever  at  his  polishin' — thought 
I'd  give  him  something  to  polish  for.  He  hit 
me  first,"  asserted  Jones,  grasping  at  a  straw. 

The  witness  interrupted. 


Holding  Mast  191 

"They  fights  all  the  time,"  he  volunteered 
virtuously.  "I  seen  them  fightin'  the  other 
day  because  Jenkins  told  Jones  that  no  man 
that  had  red  hair  could  ever  be  a  good  en- 
gineer. Said  the  admiral  said  so." 

Jenkins  flushed.  "Aw,  can't  you  take  a 
joke  ?"  he  growled. 

"How  old  are  you,  Jenkins,  and  you, 
Jones?"  asked  the  captain,  and  smiled  at 
the  answers  of  "twenty." 

"You  can  punish  them  this  time  by  letting 
them  shake  hands  for  an  hour  on  the  quarter- 
deck," said  the  captain. 

"Next,"  commanded  the  executive,  and  a 
white-faced  man  stepped  forward  in  answer 
to  the  name  of  William  Clark. 

"Reported  by  the  master-at-arms  for  tak- 
ing cocaine,"  read  the  yeoman. 

The  captain  glanced  sharply  at  the  trem- 
bling hand  raised  to  remove  the  white  cap. 

"Is  this  true  ?"  he  asked. 

The  man  nodded  miserably. 

"How  and  where  did  you  form  this  habit  ?" 
asked  the  captain. 

"I  got  to  going  with  a  crowd  in  Harlem 
three  years  ago,  and  some  of  the  girls  took 


192  Holding  Mast 

the  stuff — said  it  was  great  and  wanted  me 
to  try  it,'*  said  Clark  in  a  low  voice.  "I  en- 
listed to  get  away  from  them  and  quit  it; 
but  every  time  I  go  ashore  I  just  can't  help 
buying  it." 

The  captain's  face  clouded,  but  his  voice 
was  kind. 

"I'm  sorry  for  you,  Clark,"  he  said.  "Un- 
less you  are  man  enough  to  break  this  habit 
and  start  fresh,  there  isn't  any  future  for  you 
anywhere.  We  can't  keep  you  here.  The 
navy  isn't  a  reform  school,  and  nothing  spreads 
like  a  bad  habit.  I  wish  I  could  help  you; 
but  this  is  the  time  when  you  must  help  your- 
self. Cocaine  is  the  entrance  ticket  to  the 
insane  asylum  and  to  the  gutter — and  to 
nothing  else." 

The  list  proceeded.  "Smoking  out  of 
hours"  was  the  most  popular  cause  for  getting 
on  the  report,  although  overstaying  liberty, 
while  communing  with  long-lost  friends  from 
other  ships,  ran  it  a  close  race. 

One  exuberant  youth,  reported  for  "con- 
tinued spitting  on  the  deck,"  announced 
belligerently  that  he  "couldn't  work  if  he 
couldn't  spit";  another  frankly  admitted  an 


Holding  Mast  '193 

aversion  for  vaccination;  while  a  third  vo- 
ciferously defended  his  pastime  of  "sleeping 
in  a  life-boat"  when  he  should  have  been 
working. 

Stealing,  the  most  contemptible  sin  in 
the  community  life  aboard  ship,  was  severely 
dealt  with.  The  last  case  was  finished. 

"No  more  reports,"  announced  the  yeo- 
man, closing  the  book  and  bundling  his  papers 
together. 

"Attention!"  commanded  the  master-at- 
arms  to  the  prisoners. 

The  captain  started  across  the  deck  toward 
his  cabin,  paused,  and  returned. 

"Simmons — one  moment,"  he  said  to  the 
first  prisoner. 

The  sailor  stepped  forward  and  lifted  his 
heavy  eyes  to  the  captain's  face. 

"What  is  it,  Simmons  ?  Something  you  are 
afraid  to  tell  ?"  asked  the  captain. 

"  My  wife,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  and  swallowed 
hard.  "The  baby  came  yesterday  morn- 
ing. .  .  .  We  had  a  civilian  doctor  .  .  . 
but  he  was  drunk !  They  know  we  navy 
people  haven't  much  money  and  aren't  here 
long  ...  so  they  think  it  don't  matter  how 


194  Holding  Mast 

they  treat  us.  ...  I  did  all  I  could  .  .  . 
but  she  had  kind  of  chills.  ...  I  came  back 
as  soon  as  I  dared  leave  her." 

His  shoulders  shook;  he  leaned  his  face 
against  his  blue  sleeve. 

"Good  Lord,  man!  Why  didn't  you  tell 
that  to  the  officer  of  the  deck  when  you  came 
aboard  ?  Is  any  one  with  your  wife  ?  Is  her 
home  in  this  city  ?"  demanded  the  captain. 

"She's  all  alone  in  a  lodging-house.  Her 
folks  live  in  San  Francisco,"  answered  Sim- 
mons. 

The  captain  turned.  "Ask  Doctor  Knapp 
to  come  here,"  he  said  to  the  orderly.  And 
to  the  master-at-arms :  "Erase  that  report 
against  Simmons;  he's  going  ashore  with  the 
doctor." 

"Ay,  ay,  sir!"  said  the  master-at-arms; 
he  turned  and  faced  the  prisoners:  "Right 
about!  Forward — march!"  he  commanded. 

Eight  bells  struck. 

Above  their  clanging  clamor  came  the  clear 
notes  of  a  bugle  sounding  mess-gear,  and 
from  the  deck  below  arose  a  great  clattering 
of  plates.  The  band,  which  plays  every 
day  during  the  crew's  dinner-hour,  sailed  val- 


Holding  Mast  195 

iantly  into  the  opening  bars  of  the  "Anvil 
Chorus";  factory  whistles  in  the  near-by  city 
shrieked  their  noonday  greetings  above  the 
deep  boomings  of  bells. 

"My  wife's  been  alone  for  five  hours," 
said  Simmons  miserably. 

Late  that  night  the  captain  finished  his 
writing  and  went  over  the  doctor's  report. 

Mrs.  Simmons  and  the  baby  had  been 
moved  to  a  hospital  and  were  comfortable. 
Simmons,  tremulous  with  gratitude,  had  re- 
turned to  the  ship  and  was  sleeping  the  sleep 
of  exhaustion,  two  decks  below. 

The  captain  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  Fac- 
ing him,  on  the  shelf  above,  a  woman  smiled 
from  a  photograph — an  old  photograph,  judg- 
ing by  the  enormous  sleeves  and  diminutive 
hat.  How  clearly  he  remembered  the  day 
that  photograph  was  taken — just  before  he 
started  on  a  Pacific  cruise. 

How  they  had  laughed,  and  hoped,  and 
planned  even  to  deciding  on  the  college  which 
"junior"  should  eventually  honor  by  his  pres- 
ence, with  Wellesley  as  an  alternative,  if  fate 
should  prove  disobliging. 


196  Holding  Mast 

"All  was  well"  when  he  had  cabled  from 
Valparaiso;  and  even  if  he  had  worried  dur- 
ing those  days  of  cruising  through  the  Straits 
of  Magellan  he  had  been  pitifully  unprepared 
for  the  cablegram  awaiting  him  at  Mon- 
tevideo. Five  words !  Yet  they  told  him 
that  never  again  would  he  need  to  hurry 
home.  .  .  . 

The  captain  sighed.  For  a  second  the 
port-hole  framed  the  stretching  road  of  the 
long  years;  but  somewhere,  around  a  little 
turn,  she  would  be  waiting  for  him,  the 
baby  in  her  arms 

The  captain  smiled  back  at  the  photo- 
graph and,  ringing  for  the  orderly,  switched 
off  the  desk  lights. 


THE  WALL 

'THEY  have  a  palace  with  over  three 
hundred  rooms  that,  with  the  gardens,  takes 
up  a  half-mile  square.  The  old  prince,  his 
eight  sons,  and  their  wives  and  children  live 
there.  They  have  Eurasians,  from  the  mis- 
sion, to  teach  the  children  English;  but  I 
guess  you'll  be  the  first  foreigner  who  ever 
got  nearer  than  the  wall.  It's  the  real  thing 
in  walls!"  asserted  the  Scotch  captain  of 
the  Yangtze  River  steamer  when  Mrs.  Allen 
told  of  her  engagement  and  asked  for  direc- 
tions. 

And  Marjorie  Allen,  rattling  over  the  un- 
even road  in  a  ricksha,  agreed  with  him;  the 
wall  built  of  huge  blocks  of  stone  towered 
ten  feet  over  her  head,  the  bronze  coping 
giving  out  sharp  gleams  in  the  afternoon 
sunshine. 

"If  Elsie  Marvin  could  be  dropped  down 
here!"  thought  Marjorie,  whimsically  re- 
membering Elsie's  exasperated  remonstrances 

197 


198  The  Wall 

at  receptions  or  dances  in  Washington,  fif- 
teen years  before:  "Why  are  you  always 
bothering  with  that  Chinese  girl  ?  She's 
stiff  as  a  poker  and  stupid  as  an  owl !  Being 
at  the  embassy  doesn't  mean  anything — she 
probably  runs  a  laundry  at  home.  You'll 
never  go  to  China.  .  .  .  Why  do  you  bother 
to  be  nice  to  her?" 

"Poor  Elsie  wasn't  a  good  judge  of  people," 
sighed  Marjorie  Allen,  leaning  forward  to 
see  the  great  gate  revealed  by  a  turn  in  the 
narrow  road. 

A  servant,  leaning  against  the  massive 
barrier  screening  the  opening,  came  forward. 
"Miss-ses  Al-len?"  he  asked,  and  at  her  an- 
swering nod  turned  and  shouted.  Twice  he 
repeated  it  before  his  voice  penetrated  the 
indescribable  din,  and  the  ponderous  gates 
swung  slowly  back. 

Marjorie  Allen  hesitated  at  the  scene  dis- 
closed. 

Piles  of  luggage,  scores  of  servants,  a  heavy 
travelling-carriage  with  horses,  a  vermilion- 
lacquered  chair  and  bearers,  carved  and  gilded 
chests  mingled  in  chaotic  confusion;  while 
mafoos  and  coolies  lounged  or,  oblivious  to 


The  Wall  199 

the  uproar,  slept,  although  the  palace  en- 
closing the  stone-paved  courtyard  on  three 
sides  formed  a  sounding-board  that  echoed 
and  re-echoed  all  sounds. 

"What  can  it  mean?"  wondered  Mrs. 
Allen,  following  her  guide  as  he  threaded  his 
way  toward  an  arched  doorway,  then  down 
a  long  corridor  paved  with  squares  of  white 
marble  to  a  great  carved  screen.  Stopping, 
he  beckoned  her  to  enter. 

"Ong?"  a  voice  questioned. 

"Yes,  excellency,  and  the  American  lady," 
the  servant  answered. 

"How  pleasant  to  again  see  you!"  wel- 
comed the  princess  cordially.  "Very  much 
I  liked  your  writing  me;  all  the  long  years 
rolled  back  and  I  saw  once  more  the  wide 
streets  of  Washington — and  the  embassy — 
and  my  dead  uncle.  Almost  a  dream  seems 
that  winter." 

She  spoke  slowly,  clearly,  and  very  care- 
fully. "  Your  mother  ?  That  kind  and  gentle 
lady !  And  your  father — and  the  husband 
in  the  navy  of  America  ?  Very  happy  am 
I  that  his  ship  comes  to  my  country  and  gives 
me  the  sight  of  you." 


200  The  Wall 

Marjorie  Allen  smiled  through  a  blur  of 
tears.  "Home  seems  very  far  away  !  Mother 
and  father  were  well  when  I  last  heard;  they 
will  be  interested  to  know  that  I  have  seen 
you.  Mother  always  inquired  about  you, 
after  you  left  Washington;  your  aunt  told 
her  of  your  marriage — that's  how  I  knew 
where  to  write  you." 

The  princess  nodded. 

"How  interesting  this  is!"  said  Marjorie 
Allen  enthusiastically;  "your  courtyard  was 
like  a  Bakst  setting." 

"You  discover  us  in  confusion,"  explained 
the  princess;  "my  brother-by-law  and  his 
new  wife  arrived  but  an  hour  ago.  Their 
servants,  I  fear,  still  encumber  the  court- 
yard." 

"How  I  wish  I  might  have  seen  them!" 
cried  Marjorie  Allen  enviously. 

Palaces  were  a  novelty — but  a  Chinese 
prince  arriving  with  his  bride ! 

The  princess  smiled. 

"Will  you  sit  here  ?"  she  asked,  motioning 
to  a  carved  bench  in  the  deep  window.  Turn- 
ing, she  spoke  in  Chinese,  and  Mrs.  Allen 
saw  that  they  were  not  alone.  In  a  shadowy 


The  Wall  201 

corner  of  the  long  room  a  woman  sat  huddled 
in  a  great  chair  beside  a  table,  her  face  hidden 
against  her  arms. 

Reluctantly  she  lifted  her  head,  and  Mar- 
jorie  Allen  gave  a  little  sigh  of  tribute  to  her 
loveliness.  From  the  magnificent  pearls  out- 
lining the  heavy  pins  in  her  blue-black  hair 
to  the  points  of  her  tiny  embroidered  slippers 
she  was  as  exquisite  as  a  flower.  But  Mar- 
jorie  Allen's  eyes  wandered  from  the  face 
that  bloomed  startlingly  against  the  sombre 
panelling  to  the  perfect  hands — heritage  of 
generations  of  idleness — that  lay  against  the 
dark  wood  of  the  table. 

The  woman  looked  at  her. 

Heavy-eyed,  she  glanced  unhurriedly  at 
the  visitor's  tailored  dress,  plain  hat,  and 
English  shoes. 

She  hid  her  head  on  her  arms  again. 

"Oh,  Aisan!"  reproved  the  princess,  turn- 
ing apologetically  to  her  guest.  "My  sister- 
by-law — Aisan — has  no  children;  so  to-day 
her  husband  brings  home  a  second  wife,"  she 
explained  calmly. 

Marjorie  Allen  gasped. 

"How  dreadful — how  degrading !   The  poor 


202  The  Wall 

woman,"  she  cried,  looking  compassionately 
at  the  motionless,  bowed  figure. 

The  princess  seemed  puzzled. 

"I  do  not  understand,"  she  said;  "there 
will  be  no  poverty  for  Aisan.  Life  goes  on 
the  same,  and  would,  if  my  brother-by-law 
brought  home  eight  wives — or  eighteen;  there 
is  plenty  for  all." 

"But  to  ask  her  to  live  in  the  same  house 
with  the  others!  How  can  she  bear  it?" 
questioned  Marjorie  vehemently. 

The  princess  sighed. 

"Very  thankful  am  I,  during  these  days 
with  Aisan,  that  my  honored  father  so  in- 
sisted on  difficult  books  and  the  Confucian 
lessons  that  taught  obedience  and  restraint," 
she  said.  "When  I  came  from  Washington 
very  brave  was  I,  and  very  determined  to 
marry  a  poor  young  man  who  talked  much. 
My  father  knew  best !  A  husband  whom 
you  love — most  miserable  can  he  make  you." 

"No  one  likes  having  her  husband  won 
away,  even  if  she  doesn't  love  him,"  as- 
serted Marjorie  Allen. 

"As  for  Aisan,  soon,  I  think,  she  will  laugh 
at  these  days;  she  has  beauty,  and  that  the 


The  Wall  203 

new  wife  has  not,"  explained  the  princess 
calmly. 

Marjorie  Allen  shuddered. 

"But  I  forget,"  apologized  the  princess; 
"your  steamer  stops  only  a  few  hours,  and 
time  goes  quickly.  You  might  wish  to  see 
the  palace  ?  Or  the  gray  garden  ?  A  famous 
one  it  is,  in  China — many  hundreds  of  years 
old." 

She  glanced  toward  the  silent  figure  in  the 
chair,  hesitated,  and,  crossing  the  room,  spoke 
softly  in  Chinese.  The  woman  neither  looked 
up  nor  answered. 

"Shall  we  go  now?"  she  asked,  turning. 
"My  sister-by-law  speaks  no  English,"  she 
added  when,  followed  by  servants  carrying 
trays  of  teacups  and  bowls  of  salted  water- 
melon seeds,  they  went  slowly  down  the  wide 
stone  walk. 

"What  did  you  say  to  her — is  there  any- 
thing you  could  say  that  would  comfort  her  ?" 
asked  Marjorie  Allen,  haunted  by  the  dumb 
misery  of  the  silent  figure. 

"I  told  her,  to-day  last  not  forever — al- 
ready the  shadows  lengthen,  and  in  the  end 
it  will  not  matter;  but  time  was  when  I  also 


204  The  Wall 

thought  beauty  everything !  One  of  your 
friends  that  winter  in  Washington — very 
lovely  she  was — men  waited  in  little  groups 
to  dance  with  her.  I  have  wondered — is  she 
happy?"  she  asked. 

Mrs.  Allen  shook  her  head. 

"What  a  coincidence  that  you  should  ask 
for  Elsie  Marvin!"  she  said.  "No,  she  has 
had  a  miserable  life.  She  divorced  her  first 
husband  because  of  another  woman;  he  pays 
her  alimony  .  .  .  and  she  has  been  married 
and  divorced  twice  since." 

"Alimony?  Divorced?"  questioned  the 
princess.  "Her  husbands  pay  her  ? — and  two 
other  husbands  ? — and  none  dead  ?  What 
are  these  things  ?  I  do  not  understand  !"  she 
cried. 

"Oh,  but  only  one  at  a  time;  it's  settled 
in  court — the  divorce,  I  mean !  And  two 
husbands,  without  a  divorce,  is  bigamy — 
people  go  to  prison  for  that.  I  don't  believe 
I  can  explain  it,"  said  Marjorie  Allen  lamely. 

"Courts  and  prisons  are  for  coolies,"  as- 
serted the  princess  with  quiet  finality;  "in 
palaces  affairs  are  corrected  by  the  head  of 
the  house.  What  happens,  no  one  beyond 


The  Wall  205 

the  wall  knows.  But  look !"  she  said,  stoop- 
ing under  the  shallow  circular  opening.  "  You 
wished  to  see  my  brother-by-law  and  his  new 
wife  ?  A  moment  more  and  they  would  be 
gone." 

Facing  them  stood  a  man,"  coarse,  sensual, 
and  supercilious,  with  the  haughtiness  of  the 
Chinese  great,  and  a  girl,  gay  as  a  butterfly 
in  her  flowery  brocade,  her  childish  face 
radiating  content  as  her  hands  wandered 
from  the  carved  jade  of  her  hairpins  to  the 
embroideries  of  her  yellow  dress.  Her  pro- 
prietary eye  beamed  approval  on  palace, 
garden,  and  wall. 

"But  how  curious — no  color  or  flowers!" 
cried  Marjorie  Allen. 

Before  her,  paths  of  fine  gray  pebbles 
wound,  or  crossed  on  arching  bridges  the 
stone-lined  course  of  a  riotous  brook;  water- 
falls broke  into  rainbows  of  spray  on  the 
gray  rocks;  a  thatched  tea-house  showed  its 
roof  of  slate-colored  tiles  over  the  thickets 
of  silvery  bamboo;  willows  trailed  their  ashen 
leaves  in  the  murmuring  water.  It  was  like 
something  seen  by  moonlight  or  in  a  dream. 

The  prince  turned. 


206  The  Wall 

"You  find  it  curious?"  he  asked.  "Yet, 
perhaps  some  day  your  country  may  be  as 
full  of  imitations  of  our  gardens  as  it  is  now 
with  horrible  counterfeits  of  our  porcelains 
and  bronzes,"  he  added  insolently,  and  fol- 
lowed his  wife  through  the  low  archway. 

Marjorie  Allen  gasped.  Consideration  for 
women  was  not  a  grace  the  prince  found 
worthy  of  cultivation,  she  reflected;  yet 
guilty  remembrance  of  "blue  gardens,"  "rock 
gardens,"  "wild  gardens,"  at  home  and  in 
England,  kept  her  silent.  Could  they  be 
the  first  crude  strivings  for  this  perfect 
achievement  ? 

"Shall  we  have  tea  now?"  questioned  the 
princess,  leading  toward  the  tea-house  porch. 

Marjorie  Allen  looked  after  the  prince  and 
his  bride.  "She'll  never  be  unhappy  here — 
while  there  are  needlewomen  and  goldsmiths," 
she  commented  dryly. 

The  princess  laughed.  "Already  you  can 
see  ?  And  soon  fault-finding  with  the  servants 
or  any  who  disturb  her  comfort,"  she  prophe- 
sied. 

"I've  seen  so  many  things  to  remember 
and  think  about  to-day !  The  city  gates — 


The  Wall  207 

this  garden — and  that  wonderful  old  drum- 
tower  on  the  way  here;  it's  the  most  pic- 
turesque building  I've  ever  seen." 

"The  drum-tower  is  not  old — it  was  built 
in  1490,"  explained  the  princess;  "but  the 
temple  you  pass,  just  below  our  wall,  nearly 
two  thousand  years  has  it  stood;  sometimes 
when  I  see  the  hawthorn  blossoming,  and 
remember  the  smallness  of  them  when  I  came 
here,  a  long  time  it  seems;  but  to  the  un- 
changing stars  how  recent  must  the  temple 
appear!  Does  it  teach  indifference — or  just 
patience  ?"  she  asked. 

"How  new  my  country  must  have  seemed ! 
Do  you  ever  talk  of  it  with  your  sisters-in- 
law?"  asked  Marjorie  Allen. 

"A  pleasant  memory — -the  clean,  wide 
streets,"  praised  the  princess,  and  hesitated. 
"My  sisters-by-law — only  from  the  window 
of  a  chair  or  carriage  have  they  seen  your 
women  and  their  clothes — useful  they  are 
but  not  beautiful,  those  dresses." 

She  smiled  reminiscently. 

"Long  ago,  I  tried  once  to  tell  of  evening 
dresses  in  your  country — of  the  colors  and 
slippers  and  trains  and  jewels.  Most  un- 


208  The  Wall 

happily,  I  told  also  of  the  low-cut  necks  and 
the  dancing  with  men  !" 

The  princess  paused  and  shook  her  head. 

"My  husband's  mother  lived  then;  she 
forbade  me  ever  so  to  speak  again.  Except 
that  my  family  is  a  great  one,  I  think  she 
mourned  a  daughter-by-law  who  had  looked 
upon  such  sights." 

"What  would  she  think  of  the  dresses  and 
dancing  now?"  thought  Mrs.  Allen. 

There  was  silence. 

"One's  own  country  and  its  ways — to 
each  seems  most  beautiful  and  best,"  apol- 
ogized the  princess  gently. 

With  the  obvious  intention  of  amusing 
her  guest  she  spoke  of  the  skating  club  that 
had  been  a  feature  of  the  social  life  in  Wash- 
ington during  her  winter. 

"My  life — you  see  it — very  quiet  it  is — 
and  think  how  to  me  the  upon-skates  men 
and  women  seemed  !  Some  had  never  before 
attempted  it;  they  waved  their  arms;  their 
feet  went  in  ways  they  did  not  desire !  One 
man  from  the  embassy  of  England — often 
and  heavily  he  sat  upon  the  floor." 

The  princess  smiled.  "Very  interested 
was  I.  Every  time,  until  people  skated 


The  Wall  209 

smoothly,  I  went;  but  never  did  the  embassy- 
of-England  man  learn.  He  stopped  trying. 
Kenton  his  name,  and  recently  in  the  Shang- 
hai papers  I  read  that  name." 

"It  is  the  same  man,"  said  Marjorie  Allen. 
"Then  he  was  naval  attache,  now  he  is  the 
admiral  commanding  their  Asiatic  squadron. 
He  always  was  an  idiot.  I  hear  that  he  makes 
love  to  any  pretty  wife  of  a  junior  officer,  and 
when  they  object,  tells  them  'not  to  be  so 
middle  class/  He  has  learned  to  guard  against 
falls,"  she  commented  dryly. 

The  princess  turned  a  bewildered  face. 

"I  do  not  understand,"  she  apologized. 

"Tell  me,  please,  of  your  aunt — is  she 
near?"  asked  Marjorie  Allen,  hastily  chang- 
ing the  subject.  Glancing  toward  the  garden, 
she  saw  that  it  was  veiled  in  long  shadows; 
a  cold  breeze  stirred. 

From  a  cage  under  the  tea-house  eaves  a 
nightingale  called  mournfully  to  his  faithless 
mate;  the  new  moon  curved  faintly  above 
the  pointed  pine-trees;  far  away  the  whip- 
poorwills  voiced  their  dreary  plaint. 

Mrs.  Allen  rose.  "We  sail  at  seven — I 
must  go,"  she  said. 

"Darkness  comes  quickly.    I  am  sorry  this 


210  The  Wall 

afternoon  is  gone,"  said  the  princess  with  a 
little  sigh.  "I  am  sending  Ong — an  old  ser- 
vant who  speaks  English — back  to  your  boat 
with  you.  It  is  better  that  you  should  not 
go  alone  through  the  city,  and  with  him  you 
need  have  no  fear.  Also,  will  you  take  from 
me  to  your  mother  a  little  gift — and  my  good 
wishes  ?"  she  asked,  opening  the  door  into 
the  great  courtyard,  empty  now  but  for  the 
two  rickshas  and  their  coolies. 

"How  kind  of  you — and  how  thoughtful! 
Mother  will  be  so  pleased;  she  will  write 
you,"  said  Marjorie  Allen,  warmed  by  the 
gentle  courtesy. 

The  princess  watched  her  get  into  the 
ricksha. 

"Never  again  shall  I  see  your  country,  but 
if  once  more  you  are  in  China " 

She  stopped. 

From  the  shadowy  house  a  cry  arose  .  .  . 
a  shriek  of  terror  .  .  .  the  sound  of  a  struggle 
...  a  voice  raised  sharply  in  wordless  protest 
against  unbearable  agony  .  .  .  echoed  and 
answered  among  the  stones  of  the  courtyard. 

Slowly  .  .  .  the  voice  died  to  a  gurgling 
moan;  .  .  .  gasping  followed;  .  .  .  the  demon 


The  Wall  211 

echoes  whispered  them  gloatingly,  sang  them 
triumphantly,  juggled  them  intricately,  mum- 
bled them  faintly. 

The  palace  awoke. 

Heavy  doors  slammed;  voices  called;  run- 
ning, slippered  feet  clicked  over  stone  floors; 
lights  flashed  out;  a  shutter  over  the  princess's 
head  was  quietly  closed.  A  babel  of  voices 
sounded,  then  a  pause;  and  one  quiet  voice, 
tired  and  old  but  compelling. 

The  echoes  ignored  it. 

Marjorie  Allen  unclasped  her  cold  fingers. 

"Something  dreadful  has  happened,"  she 
whispered. 

The  princess  lifted  her  head  and  spoke 
evenly.  "Although  I  shall  never  again  see 
your  country  and  the  wide,  white  streets  of 
Washington,  if  you  are  in  China  I  hope  you 
will  write  me,"  she  said.  Only  the  knuckles 
of  one  clinched  hand  betrayed  the  knowledge 
of  anything  unusual. 

From  the  arched  embrasure  a  man's  voice 
sounded,  high,  cruel,  merciless  with  anger, 
and  as  the  echoing  courtyard  seized  it  and 
gave  it  back,  an  ugly  snarl  ran  through  it. 
The  voice  paused,  but  the  snarling  echo  went 


2i2  The  Wall 

on.  The  voice  sounded  again,  but  now  it 
was  muffled  by  the  pathos  of  a  woman's  sob- 
bing, in  despair  and  anguish  and  helpless- 
ness, .  .  .  that  spoke  and  answered  across 
the  darkening  courtyard.  .  .  . 

"Some  dreadful  accident  has  happened," 
breathed  Marjorie  Allen. 

The  door  opened,  and  the  old  servant  came 
out;  trembling,  he  climbed  into  the  waiting 
ricksha. 

"So  much  have  I  enjoyed  your  visit,"  said 
the  princess;  "a  happy  memory — those  old 
days !  Good-by,  and  a  safe  journey." 

The  ricksha  turned. 

But  even  as  the  gates  clanged  behind  them 
Marjorie  Allen  heard  the  despairing  weeping 
and  saw  the  princess  standing  motionless  on 
the  palace  steps,  while  above  her  the  night 
wind  sounded  its  first  whisperings  among  the 
sculptured  dragons  of  the  curving  eaves. 

She  turned  impulsively  to  the  old  servant. 
"Was  some  one  hurt — what  happened  ?"  she 
asked. 

"Her  excellency — the  Princess  Aisan — 
dealeth  death  to  the — new  princess,"  he  whis- 
pered feebly. 


The  Wall  213 

Straightening,  he  looked  at  this  inquisitive 
alien  woman. 

"I — not — speak — English,"  he  said  clearly; 
and  as  they  turned  the  corner  he  growled  an 
order  in  Chinese,  and  his  ricksha,  dropping 
behind,  followed  through  the  dusk  down  the 
uneven  roadway  skirting  the  palace  wall. 


XI 
GUAM— AND  EFFIE 

ARE  you  an  American  ? 

Then,  of  course,  you  know  all  about  our 
island  of  Guam. 

But  if  you  don't:  place  an  equal  triangle 
on  the  Pacific  Ocean  with  one  point  on  Hono- 
lulu and  one  point  on  Yokohama;  the  third 
point  will  rest — approximately — on  Guam. 

Guam  is  a  far-flung,  remote  sort  of  place, 
hundreds  of  miles  off  the  paths  of  freight 
steamers  or  the  trans-Pacific  liners.  Once  a 
month,  on  the  outward-bound  trip  to  Manila, 
the  army  transport  stops  with  the  mail,  pro- 
visions, and  the  shifting  officers  and  men.  On 
the  return  voyage  the  transport  does  not  stop. 

Since  the  capture  of  the  island  by  the 
U.'S.  S.S.  Charleston  during  our  war  with  Spain, 
the  governors  of  Guam  have  been  officers  of 
the  United  States  Navy.  The  governor  lives 
in  the  old  Spanish  "palace,"  but  the  junior 
naval  officers  find  quarters  where  they  can 

among  the  native  houses  in  the  capital  city. 

214 


Guam — and  Effie  215 

"The  seat  of  the  insular  government  of 
Guam  and  the  home  of  60  per  cent  of  its  in- 
habitants is  at  Agana.  Agafia  is  hot  and 
damp  and " 

But  my  preface  is  too  long. 

To  Guam,  on  the  March  transport,  came 
Lieutenant  and  Mrs.  Hugh  Meredith,  re- 
cently married  in  New  York,  where  Mrs. 
Meredith,  as  Effie  Steadman,  had  graced  the 
chorus  of  a  successful  musical  comedy.  The 
marriage  had  been  a  hasty  one,  following  a 
courtship  rendered  incitingly  difficult  by  Lieu- 
tenant Meredith's  duties  as  aide  to  an  admiral 
and  Effie's  conflicting  rehearsals,  matinees, 
and  evening  performances — a  courtship  with 
all  the  feverish,  calculated  glamour  of  the 
restaurants  and  tea-rooms  where  it  was 
carried  on. 

In  the  end  Hugh  Meredith — to  whom 
preference  by  the  admiral  came  as  easily  as 
the  generous  allowance  from  home — brushed 
aside  the  barrier  of  difficult  meetings  and 
married  Miss  Steadman  before  a  dignitary 
in  the  city  hall. 

The  Hugh  Meredith  surveying  the  Eden- 


216  Guam— and  Effie 

like  trees  of  Guam  from  the  transport's  deck 
was  a  considerably  sadder  and  wiser  person 
than  the  care-free  hero  of  that  whirlwind 
romance ! 

Events  had  quickly  followed :  The  generous 
allowance  from  home  ceased  with  stunning 
abruptness;  indeed,  judging  by  any  approval 
or  enthusiasm  of  his  act  from  his  family — 
except  for  one  letter  from  his  mother  written 
during  her  first,  white  heat  of  anger — he 
might  have  been  a  kinless  orphan  !  Curiously, 
too,  the  admiral  suddenly  needed  an  older 
aide,  and  the  admiral's  lively  daughter  stopped 
being  "always  at  home  at  tea-time."  In  less 
than  two  months  life  grew  to  be  amazingly 
chilly  to  Hugh  Meredith.  His  orders  to 
Guam  came  as  a  real  boon. 

"I'll  be  glad  to  go  somewhere  a  long  way 
off,"  he  told  Effie,  who  regarded  this  new 
development  as  a  sort  of  "going  on  the  road," 
and  was  neither  pleased  nor  sorry. 

"I  like  to  travel,  too,"  agreed  Effie.  "Since 
I've  gotten  rested  I've  missed  the  theatre. 
The  days  are  long  when  you  haven't  any- 
thing to  do.  Sometimes  when  you  come 
home,  I  can't  think  of  a  thing  to  talk  about ! 


Guam— and  Effie  217 

What  sort  of  a  place  is  this  Guam  ?  I  need 
some  new  clothes — but,  of  course " 

"If  I'd  only  saved  when  I  could  !"  groaned 
Hugh.  "But  you  won't  need  new  clothes  in 
Guam,"  he  comforted. 

And  now,  from  the  transport's  deck,  a 
limp  and  seasick  Effie  viewed,  with  growing 
apprehension,  her  new  home.  "I'd  never 
have  believed  any  place  could  be  so  far  from 
every  other  place  and  still  be  on  the  map," 
she  commented,  looking  back  over  the  im- 
mense, flat  Pacific. 

"I'm  going  to  make  good  here,  if  I  work 
my  finger-nails  off,"  said  her  husband  with 
bitter  emphasis.  "Every  one  has  fired  me 
out  to  shift  for  myself;  we'll  show  them, 
won't  we  ?" 

"They'll  need  good  eyesight,"  volunteered 
the  wavering  Effie;  "it  looks  so  lonesome," 
she  amended  forlornly.  A  nearer  view  was 
not  reassuring.  Effie  lapsed  into  silence — a 
silence  that  deepened  after  Hugh  had  enthu- 
siastically greeted  an  old  friend  and  they  were 
following  him  through  the  streets  of  Agana. 

"I  didn't  know  that  you  were  here,  Put- 
nam !  Where's  Alice  ?"  Hugh  asked. 


2i 8  Guam— and  Effie 

Doctor  Putnam's  pleasant  face  clouded. 
"She's  here,  but  she's  been  ill  ever  since  our 
baby  was  born — dead — two  months  ago.  I'm 
hoping  to  get  her  away  as  soon  as  she  is  able 
to  travel,"  he  said,  and  added  briskly:  "When 
I  saw  by  a  wireless  message  from  your  trans- 
port that  you  were  coming  to  take  Russell's 
job,  I  officiously  engaged  the  house  they 
were  vacating,  for  you — with  the  two  Cha- 
morro  servants  and  all.  It's  the  best  avail- 
able, Mrs.  Meredith;  the  Russells  left  some 
furniture  and  decorations,  and  my  wife  sent 
over  enough  provisions  to  last  you  until  you 
get  the  hang  of  the  native  hucksters.  She 
was  sorry  not  to  welcome  you,  but  she  hasn't 
seen  any  one  yet."  The  doctor  paused;  then, 
as  Effie  did  not  speak,  went  on:  "The  houses 
are  built  on  stilts  because  it  is  cooler  and  less 
damp,  Mrs.  Meredith,  and  then  it  gives  you 
a  place  to  keep  a  pig.  You'll  never  realize 
what  a  useful  animal  a  pig  is  until  you  see 
him  working,  twenty-four  hours  a  day,  around 
the  native  houses !" 

"He's  joking,  Effie,"  whispered  Hugh, 
across  her  uncompromising  silence,  as  they 
followed  the  doctor  down  a  narrow  street. 


Guam— and  Effie  219 

"This  is  your  mansion,"  said  Doctor  Putnam, 
running  up  the  steps  and  opening  the  door. 

"Three  rooms — the  kitchen  is  in  that  de- 
tached shed.  You'll  have  to  give  the  house 
boy  an  umbrella  to  carry  over  your  food 
when  it  rains " 

Effie,  still  silent,  stood  looking  about  the 
small  bare  rooms. 

"Russell  left  you  some  books — nothing 
very  modern,  but  you  won't  mind  that  when 
you've  been  here  a  little  while.  Those  ma- 
chetes and  that  old  Chamorro  idea  of  a 
revolver  were  hung  up  there  for  ornaments 
by  a  man  who  had  this  house  five  years  ago. 
Russell  warned  me  to  tell  you  not  to  try  to 
use  the  gun,  Meredith;  he  told  me  that  he 
took  a  shot  at  a  bat  once  with  it,  and  it  not 
only  kicked  like  a  mule  but  it  back-fired  so 
that  he  still  carries  the  scars ! 

"Russell's  two  Chamorro  servants  aren't 
much  good,  but  none  of  the  others  are  any 
better.  Hope  you  haven't  brought  a  lot  of 
wedding  presents,  Mrs.  Meredith;  the  house 
boys  here  haven't  the  least  idea  of  how  to 
treat  silver." 

"I  haven't,"  vouchsafed  Effie  grimly. 


220  Guam— and  Effie 

Doctor  Putnam  paused  awkwardly,  then 
tried  a  new  subject.  "Alice  heard  from  your 
sister  last  month,  Meredith,  but  she  didn't 
mention  you !  If  she'd  only  told  us  that 
Mrs.  Meredith  was  coming  I  could  have  held 
a  better  house  for  you." 

"I'm  sure  this  one  will  do — won't  it,  Effie  ? 
Who  else  is  here  besides  Alice  and  you?" 
asked  Hugh  hurriedly. 

"Major  Forde,  of  the  marines —  Yes, 
Pedro!"  he  called  to  a  boy  clad  in  a  jumper 
of  thin  material  that  hung,  wide  and  full, 
to  the  hips  of  his  cotton  trousers.  "They 
want  me  at  the  dispensary,"  explained  Doc- 
tor Putnam  after  questioning  him.  "Good- 
by,  Mrs.  Meredith.  About  settling  with 
Russell—  His  voice  trailed  off  from  the 
road. 

Hugh  Meredith  came  slowly  back  into  the 
room  where  Effie  stood.  Outside,  from  a 
palm-tree,  a  rose-colored  fruit  dove  called 
across  the  warm  stillness  a  low,  insistent, 
mournful  plaint,  and,  from  far  away,  came 
the  subdued,  languorous,  answering  notes; 
the  heavy  air  seemed  throbbingly  full  of  the 
bubbling,  melancholy  sound. 


Guam— and  Effie  221 

Effie  turned.  "How  long  are  we  to  stay 
here  ?"  she  demanded  huskily. 

"You're  worn  out  by  the  long  sea  voyage," 
her  husband  evaded.  "Guam  is  beautiful; 
you'll  like  it  after  you  get  used  to  it !  Come 
and  have  a  look  at  the  pink  dove  that  is  mak- 
ing all  that  racket — he's  some  bird " 

"Are  the  Merediths  receiving  ?"  called  a 
voice  from  outside.  "Welcome  to  our  me- 
tropolis !"  laughed  a  newcomer  from  the  door- 
way. "Haven't  seen  you  since  Washington, 
four  years  ago,  Meredith !  How  are  your 
mother  and  sister  ?  My  regards  to  them 
when  you  write.  I  was  surprised  when  I 
heard  that  you  were  coming  here !  Please 
present  me  to — er — Mrs.  Meredith." 

Hugh,  without  enthusiasm,  greeted  the  volu- 
ble visitor.  "Effie — Major  Forde,"  he  said. 

"So  sorry  Mrs.  Forde  isn't  here — but  I 
couldn't  ask  her  to  bury  herself.  Are  you 
from  Washington,  Mrs.  Meredith  ?"  inquired 
the  major. 

"No,"  answered  Effie. 

"My  wife  is  from  New  York,"  vouchsafed 
Hugh. 

"Fine  place!"  commented  the  major  with 


222  Guam— and  Effie 

hearty  approval.  "No  place  like  it !  You'll 
find  it  lonely  here  unless,  of  course,  you  have 
a  hobby.  Cards  ?  Embroidery  ?  Piano  ? 
Or  perhaps  you  go  in  for  the  high-brow 
stuff?"  He  looked  about.  "Books,  already !" 
he  observed,  and  read  the  titles:  "Tennyson  ! 
Rossetti !  Oh,  dear  me  !"  wailed  the  impres- 
sionable major. 

"  Some  books  that  Russell  left,"  said  Hugh. 

"Glad  they  aren't  yours!"  approved  the 
major.  "I'm  looking  forward  to  seeing  a 
great  deal  of  the  Merediths,"  he  explained. 
"Mrs.  Putnam  is  very  ill — the  doctor  hopes 
to  take  her  home  soon — so  I'm  your  only 
link  with  the  past,"  he  explained,  and  waited. 

"You're  very  kind,"  agreed  Hugh  lamely. 
There  was  a  pause.  The  major  broke  it  with 
effusive  querulousness. 

"Where  have  I  met  you  before,  Mrs.  Mere- 
dith?" he  inquired.  "Your  face  is  perfectly 
familiar  to  me !  Haven't  I  seen  you  some- 
where ?  You  don't,  by  any  chance,  play  on 
the  violin — or  something?" 

"Effie  sings  a  little,"  volunteered  Hugh 
hastily. 

The  major  looked  about.    "And  no  piano !" 


Guam— and  Effie  223 

he  lamented,  rising.  "I  have  to  hunt  up 
some  old  friends  on  the  transport — but,  of 
course,  I  came  to  welcome  you  first !  Hope 
you  like  me,  Mrs.  Meredith;  you're  going 
to  see  me  early  and  often,"  he  promised  play- 
fully. Hugh  went  with  him  to  the  door. 
"Don't  forget  to  remember  me  to  your  mother 
and  sister,"  the  major  reiterated. 

"Did  he  know  your  people  well?"  ques- 
tioned Effie  curiously. 

Hugh  glanced  at  her.  "No,"  he  answered. 
"  I  doubt  if  he  ever  really  met  them.  Mother 
and  Eleanor  wouldn't  care  for  his  sort."  He 
hesitated.  "Alice  Putnam,  the  doctor's  wife, 
is  one  of  my  sister's  best  friends.  You'll  like 
her.  She's  a  great  reader.  I'm  hoping  you'll 
get  a  love  for  books  here,  Effie.  You'll  be 
glad  always  if,  instead  of  playing  cards  or 
idling,  you  take  up  a  regular  course  of  study. 
It  isn't  lonely  when  you're  busy.  I'll  have 
to  be  away  lots;  up  to  now  I've  sailed  along 
without  effort,  but  from  now  on  what  I  get 
I'll  have  to  earn — "  He  paused.  "What 
is  it,  Effie  ?"  questioned  Hugh  Meredith. 

She  turned  tensely.  "The  scraping — and 
that  queer  moan — what  are  they  ?" 


224  Guam— and  Effie 

He  listened.  "A  palm-leaf  against  a  corner 
of  the  house,  and  the  waves  on  the  beach," 
he  laughed. 

The  fruit  dove  had  flown  away;  already 
the  swift  afternoon  sunlight  was  waning, 
and  bats,  on  slanting  black  wings,  sailed 
leisurely  across  the  sky.  The  Chamorro 
house  boy  sauntered  into  the  dining-room 
and,  after  a  few  colloquialisms,  announced 
that  dinner  would  be  ready  in  a  half-hour. 
Outside  a  heavy,  dry  palm-leaf  sawed  in- 
termittently against  the  wall;  on  the  beach 
the  waves  broke  slowly  and  spread  with  a 
sluggish  sibilance  on  the  hot  sand.  Other- 
wise it  was  very  still. 

The  etiquette  of  all  naval  stations  is  the 
same.  New  arrivals  cause  a  spasmodic  ripple 
of  entertaining,  only  equalled  by  the  crowd- 
ing hospitalities  proffered  when  an  officer, 
his  wife,  and  his  family  move  on.  At  Guam 
this  is  regulated  by  the  arrival  or  departure 
of  transports.  Between  times  the  uneventful 
days  march  lazily  past. 

To  Effie  Meredith  they  seemed  to  crawl 
with  increasing  slowness.  She  did  not  "take" 


Guam— and  Effie  225 

with  the  card-playing  set,  and  after  the  first 
tentative  calls  they  left  her  to  herself.  The 
governor's  wife  was  pursuing  a  vision  of  pre- 
senting Guam  to  the  world  by  means  of  a 
set  of  water-color  sketches,  on  which  she 
arduously  toiled.  She  soon  discovered  that 
Effie's  knowledge  of  art  was  negligible. 

"I  asked  her  if  she  didn't  consider  water- 
color  the  most  brilliant  and  satisfactory 
medium,  and  she  answered  that  she  thought 
grease-paint  best.  Could  she  have  been  at- 
tempting to  be  facetious  ?"  confided  the 
governor's  wife  to  a  friend,  with  growing 
stiffness.  "I  can't  quite  understand  how 
that  nice  Meredith  boy  happened  to  marry 
such  a  girl.  She  doesn't  know  his  people — 
I  asked  her!"  commented  the  "ranking 
lady." 

Major  Forde,  more  temperamentally  de- 
vious, had  also  informed  himself  on  that 
point.  He  "stopped  in"  almost  every  after- 
noon, and  although  Effie  did  not  like  him, 
he  was  "some  one  to  talk  to." 

"You  don't  know  Washington,  then?" 
questioned  the  major  during  his  third  visit; 
"but  some  day  you  will  see  it  most  delight- 


226  Guam— and  Effie 

fully  with  Meredith's  mother  and  sister. 
Charming  people,  aren't  they?" 

"I've  never  seen  them,"  vouchsafed  the 
literal  Effie. 

"Hm'm,"  commented  the  major,  and 
paused.  "My  wife  often  writes  of  them," 
he  added,  sipping  the  lemonade  Effie  had 
hesitatingly  proffered. 

Conversation  languished. 

"Meredith  says  that  you  sing,"  observed 
the  major,  and  experimented  with  a  sud- 
den question.  "Professional?"  he  inquired 
boldly. 

"Yes,"  answered  Effie  without  embarrass- 
ment. 

The  major's  "Hm'm"  spoke  volumes.  He 
glanced  around  the  bare  rooms  from  the 
small  stand,  covered  with  a  table-napkin 
and  adorned  with  a  pitcher  filled  with 
telosma,  to  the  group  of  native  weapons  on 
the  wall.  "Must  be  lonely  for  you  here," 
he  said. 

"It  is,"  agreed  Effie.  "I'll  be  glad  when 
Mrs.  Putnam  gets  better.  I'm  going  to  see 
her,  for  the  first  time,  to-morrow." 

"Why  is  Mrs.  Putnam  bothering?"  won- 


Guam — and  Effie  227 

dered  the  major.  The  Chamorro  boy  saun- 
tering in  to  set  the  table  roused  him.  "I 
must  be  going,'*  he  said. 

Effie,  loitering  in  the  doorway,  heard  the 
haunting  call  of  a  reed-warbler,  ineffably 
sweet  on  the  quiet  evening  air.  The  sea  was 
so  calm  that  the  lazy  surf  made  no  sound, 
but  against  the  wall  a  palm-leaf  rasped  with 
indolent  persistence. 

"I  always  believed,  when  I  lived  in  New 
York,  that  a  house  and  servants  were  the 
finest  things  in  the  world.  Well,  now  I've 
got  them !"  thought  Effie,  and  saw  the  golden 
landscape  through  a  blur  of  tears. 

Hugh  came  cheerily  up  the  steps.  "It's 
great,  isn't  it  ?"  he  asked  enthusiastically. 
"I'm  never  too  tired  to  enjoy  my  walk  home. 
Didn't  I  see  Forde  coming  away  from  here  ? 
I  wouldn't  bother  much  with  him,  Effie;  he 
isn't  worth  while.  Dinner,  Pedro  ?" 

Mrs.  Putnam  smiled  feebly  at  her  visitor, 
and  glanced  nervously  toward  the  desk,  where 
the  corner  of  an  embittered  letter  from  Mrs. 
Meredith,  senior,  showed  from  a  pigeonhole. 
"I'm  sorry  I've  been  such  a  poor  neighbor," 


228  Guam— and  Effie 

she  said.  "Are  you  comfortable  ?  Is  there 
anything  we  can  do  to  help  you  out  ?  I  was 
so  ill  when  you  came  that  I  had  to  leave  all 
arrangements  to  the  servants." 

Effie  smiled  back.  "We  have  everything 
going  smoothly  now.  You've  been  so  kind  ! 
Whenever  anything  especially  good  comes  on 
the  table  Hugh  asks,  'From  Mrs.  Putnam's  ?' 
and  it  always  is  from  you.  You've  trained 
your  cook  wonderfully !" 

Mrs.  Putnam  laughed.  "You  should  have 
seen  my  early  struggles,"  she  said.  "I've 
been  so  thankful  that  my  Quaker  grandmother 
made  me  learn  to  cook !" 

Effie's  face  sobered.  "I  wish  I  knew  how! 
I  can  boil  potatoes  and  fry  beefsteak — but 
that  isn't  cooking.  And  I  can't  sew.  In 
New  York,  or  on  the  road,  I  had  no  time, 
and  ready-made  things  are  cheap — the  kind 
I  bought,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Putnam  turned  on  her  pillows.  "Tell 
me — how  do  you  like  Guam  ?  What  do  you 
do  with  your  days  ?"  she  asked  kindly. 

Effie  caught  her  breath.  "Why — noth- 
ing— '  she  answered.  "We  have  breakfast, 
and  I  straighten  up.  Hugh's  things  are  al- 


Guam — and  Effie  229 

ways  in  order,  but  I  never  bothered  much, 
before — just  tumbled  my  clothes  in,  the 
quickest  way.  Now  I  try  to  keep  them  neat." 

"But  that  doesn't  fill  your  day,"  objected 
Mrs.  Putnam. 

"Oh,  no!  After  that  I  look  out  of  the 
window,  or  Major  Forde  comes  to  call,  or 
I  walk  back  to  where  I  can't  hear  the  waves 
on  the  beach." 

"But  the  sound  of  the  waves  is  pleasant !" 
cried  Mrs.  Putnam.  "What  should  we  do, 
during  the  hot  weather,  if  we  couldn't  hear 
the  waves  ?" 

Effie's  face  hardened.  "It's  such  a  lonely 
sound.  I  hate  it !"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Putnam  felt  unaccountably  sorry  for 
her.  "  Do  you  read  ?  But  you  must !  Will 
you  get  the  green  book  there — yes,  please. 
It's  Conrad's  'Victory.'  You'll  enjoy  it.  If 
a  person  gets  interested  in  books  it  opens  a 
new  world  to  them.  And  perhaps,  later  on 
when  I'm  better,  I  can  help  you  with  the 
cooking  and  sewing,"  she  promised. 

Efiie,  obedient  to  a  signal  from  the  nurse, 
rose  to  go.  For  a  second  she  stood  silently 
by  the  bed,  then:  "I'm  so  sorry — that  the 


230  Guam— and  Effie 

baby — died — "  she  said  with  awkward  sin- 
cerity. 

Mrs.  Putnam's  eyes  filled  with  tears. 
"Thank  you,"  she  whispered. 

Major  Forde  was  waiting  in  the  small 
parlor  when  Effie,  hugging  the  book  under 
her  arm,  came  up  the  steps. 

"I  knew  it!"  he  exclaimed  dramatically. 
"Literature!  And  in  this  heat!  Break  it 
to  me  gently — Shakespeare  or  Bacon  ?" 

"It's  *  Victory' — Mrs.  Putnam  wanted  me 
to  read  it,"  explained  Effie. 

"Hm'm,"  mused  the  major.  "Now  why 
is  she  bothering?"  Aloud  he  said:  "Mrs. 
Putnam  hasn't  troubled  much  with  the  women 
here.  Oh,  I  don't  mean  that  she  snubs  them 
—she  just  isn't  interested.  Perhaps  Hugh's 
sister  asked  her  to  be  nice  to  you  ?"  he  sug- 
gested. 

"No,"  answered  Effie.  "Hugh's  sister 
doesn't — know  me." 

"Well,  I  wondered  !"  commented  the  major, 
and  ventured  a  quick  question.  "Chorus?" 
he  asked. 

"Yes,"  answered  Effie  simply.    She  leaned 


Guam— and  Effie  231 

her  head  on  her  hand,  brushing  away  the 
tiny  beads  of  perspiration. 

"Must  seem  pretty  dull  to  you  here — after 
your  gay  life,"  remarked  the  major. 

Effie  thought  about  it.  "My  life  wasn't 
particularly  gay,  except  that  there  were  lots 
of  girls  to  talk  to  and  laugh  with.  We  worked 
hard,"  she  said. 

"Where  did  Meredith  come  in?"  inquired 
the  major. 

Effie  brightened.  "We  had  such  a  good 
time!"  she  answered  almost  gayly. 

"Don't  you  have  a  good  time  now  ?"  asked 
Major  Forde. 

"Yes — but  it's — different,"  answered  Effie. 

"  Hugh  doesn't  appreciate  you  ?  Grown 
tired?"  suggested  the  major,  and  added: 
"Guess  you're  more  my  sort." 

"Oh,  no!"  she  assured  him.  "I've  known 
lots  of  men  like  you — men  who  ask  questions 
just  as  you  do — they're  around  every  stage 
door.  The  girls  laugh  about  them." 

Major  Forde  glanced  sharply  at  her. 
"You're  trying  to  get  even,"  he  accused. 

"Oh,  no,"  Effie  repeated  reflectively,  and 
added:  "It's  odd — but  nearly  always  the 


232  Guam— and  Effie 

wife  of  your  kind  of  man  doesn't  live  with 
him." 

Major  Forde  arose.  "Mrs.  Forde  is  a 
great  social  favorite  in  Washington,"  he  an- 
nounced stiffly.  "Her  life,  her  friends,  her 
amusements  are  outside  of  the  experience  of 
most  of  the  people  here." 

"Does  Mrs.  Putnam  know  her?"  asked 
Effie  with  amiable  formality. 

"Mrs.  Putnam  knows  a  great  many  people 
—Hugh's  mother  and  sister,  for  instance," 
commented  the  major  darkly,  as  he  went 
down  the  steps. 

Effie  leaned  her  aching  head  on  her  hands. 
"Why  do  I  care  what  he  says  or  what  the 
Merediths  think  ?"  she  wondered. 

Below,  on  the  beach,  the  waves  broke 
languidly;  the  palm-tree,  at  the  corner  of 
the  house,  rasped  its  dry  leaves  back  and 
forth — back — and — forth. 

"Victory"  filled  some  hours  of  the  long 
days.  Effie  read  painstakingly  and,  at  times, 
with  faint  enjoyment. 

"Did  you  like  it?"  Mrs.  Putnam  asked; 
her  face  was  whiter  than  when  Effie  had  seen 
her  before,  but  her  voice  was  as  kind. 


Guam— and  Effie  233 

Effie  hesitated.  "Yes — some,"  she  an- 
swered. "Things  happened  on  that  island. 
They  never  do  here.  And  it  sounded  sort 
of  pretty." 

"You're  stone  blind!"  Mrs.  Putnam  as- 
sured her.  "Guam  is  beautiful,  and  as  for 
things  happening — why  each  woman  here  is 
as  busy  as  a  mouse  in  a  waste-paper  basket ! 
Which  of  the  officers'  wives  do  you  like 
best  ?" 

"Not  any  of  them,"  answered  Effie  slowly. 
"The  older  ones  are  busy,  and  the  younger 
ones  play  cards  all  the  time.  They're  pleasant 
enough,  but  I  don't  know  what  to  talk  to 
them  about.  I've  gone  to  their  houses  several 
times  when  I  was  too  lonely,  but  they  stopped 
playing  cards  and  seemed  to  be  waiting  for 
me  to  go;  and  the  last  time — yesterday — 
one  of  them  asked  the  others  how  to  spell 
'bore.'  I  won't  go  again,"  explained  Effie. 

Mrs.  Putnam's  voice  was  incredulous. 
"They  didn't!"  she  exclaimed,  and  glanced 
at  her  guest,  then  laid  a  gentle  hand  over 
Effie's  tightly  interlaced  ringers. 

"Nothing  like  that  could  hurt  us,  could 
it  ?  Because  we  know  that  the  sort  of  woman 
who  would  say  such  a  thing,  or  think  it  clever, 


234  Guam— and  Effie 

is  so  innately  common  that  nothing  she  said 
would  matter  to  us,"  said  Mrs.  Putnam, 
and  added,  as  Effie's  tense  attitude  relaxed: 
"You  mustn't  judge  the  navy  women  by 
the  unfortunate  group  that  happens,  at  this 
time,  to  be  at  Agana.  You  may  never  en- 
counter anything  like  it  again,  although  in 
any  gathering  of  women,  social  or  profes- 
sional, they're  never  all  of  one  grade.  But 
usually  there  are  enough  well-bred  gentle- 
women to  leaven  the  mixture.  Do  try  to 
get  interested  in  books !  You  can't  realize 
what  it  will  mean  to  you." 

Effie  ignored  the  literary  suggestion.  "I 
wouldn't  mind  so  much  if  I  didn't  realize 
that  if  Hugh  had  married  one  of  his  sister's 
friends  these  women  wouldn't  dare  act  so. 
I  cheapen  him"  admitted  Effie  huskily. 
"Hugh's  mother  has  never  written  him — 
since  he  married  me." 

"I've  known  Hugh's  people  all  my  life," 
said  Mrs.  Putnam.  "Hugh's  a  great  sur- 
prise to  us  these  days !  I  thought  his  mother 
had  succeeded  in  spoiling  him.  She  certainly 
went  about  it  right  by  giving  him  too  much 
money  and  letting  him  think  that  having  a 


Guam— and  Effie  235 

good  time  was  the  only  necessary  aim  in  life. 
But  now  my  husband  says  Hugh's  the  hardest 
worker  on  the  island.  That's  your  influence  ! " 

Effie  flushed.  "No,  it's  Hugh  himself. 
But  I  hate  to  come  between  Hugh  and  his 
family.  I  know  that  you  know  about  us — 
and  Major  Forde  says " 

"Major  Forde  can't  tell  you  anything 
about  the  Merediths,  because  he  doesn't 
know  them.  We  disliked  him  and  his  climb- 
ing wife  too  much  to  tolerate  them.  As  for 
Mrs.  Meredith — Hugh  is  the  apple  of  her 
eye !  Give  her  time.  She'll  come  around  if 
she  thinks  you  don't  need  her.  I'm  surprised 
that  she  has  held  out  as  long  as  this.  But  you 
must  study;  better  try  another  book.  There's 
Conrad's  'Youth' — I've  read  it  again  and 
again !" 

"Is  it  about  islands  ?"  asked  Effie. 

"No,  it's  a  story  of  the  sea.  You  can  hear 
the  waves!"  said  Mrs.  Putnam. 

Effie  left  the  book  on  the  table  when  she 
said  good-by  and  made  her  way  slowly  toward 
her  own  house.  Agafia  dreamed  heavily  in 
the  late  sunshine.  On  the  beach  acres  of 
seaside  daffodils  blossomed  in  prodigal  lux- 


236  Guam — and  Effie 

uriance;  tawny-colored  butterflies  floated 
above  the  convolvulus  on  wide  and  leisurely 
wings;  hibiscus  bloomed  in  tireless  profusion 
along  the  hedges. 

"I  can't  see  anything  beautiful  here," 
grieved  Effie. 

As  usual,  Major  Forde  waited  on  the  steps. 

"I've  been  at  Mrs.  Putnam's;  she  looks 
very  ill,"  Effie  told  him. 

"Putnam's  arranging  to  take  her  home  on 
the  next  transport,"  answered  the  omniscient 
major,  and  added:  "You'll  miss  her?" 

"It'll  be  lonely  for  you,  especially  as  Hugh 
finds  it  convenient  to  be  away  so  much," 
ventured  the  major  after  a  pause. 

Effie  flared  up.  "Don't  you  dare  speak 
so  of  Hugh — I  won't  have  it !"  she  said. 

Major  Forde  smiled.  "Why  don't  you 
tell  the  truth  ?"  he  asked. 

"It  is  the  truth.  Hugh's  away  working 
hard — trying  to  do  his  best,  so  that  it  will 
go  on  his  record.  He  has  had  so  much  staff 
duty  that  he  says  no  one  believes  that  he 
can  do  anything  else.  He  can't  do  good  work 
and  sit  around  on  porches,"  vouchsafed  Effie. 

Major  Forde   flushed.     "Men  are   always 


Guam— and  Effie  237 

'busy*  when  they  find  it  convenient,"  he 
observed,  shoving  back  his  chair.  From  be- 
hind the  cushion  a  folded  letter  dropped. 
The  major  stooped  and  picked  it  up.  "Your 
Chamorro  boy  evidently  dusts  by  putting 
things  out  of  sight/'  he  commented  critically 
as  he  rose  to  go.  "I'm  rather  expecting  to 
get  away  on  the  next  transport  myself,"  he 
added. 

"How  splendid!"  cried  Effie,  with  such 
generous  enthusiasm  that  the  major  glared 
affrontedly  at  her.  "Glad  you're  pleased," 
he  growled.  "Hope  you'll  enjoy  the  hot 
weather — it's  about  due." 

After  he  had  gone  she  came  back  to  the 
chair  by  the  window  and,  noticing  the  letter, 
picked  it  up. 

"Pedro,"  she  called  to  the  boy,  who  was 
yawningly  setting  the  table,  "where  did  this 
come  from  ?" 

"Him  fall  from  capt'n's  coat  when  I  take 
coat  to  press  and  pack  away — as  you  tell 
me,"  answered  Pedro  promptly. 

Effie  smiled,  remembering  Hugh's  whimsi- 
cal remark,  "Wish  the  Navy  Department 
would  promote  me  as  fast  as  Pedro  does!" 


238  Guam— and  Effie 

and  opened  the  letter.  The  first  words  riveted 
her  attention.  It  commenced,  without  saluta- 
tion, "Hugh,"  and  was  dated  two  days  after 
her  marriage. 

How  could  you — how  could  you — do  such  a  thing  ? 
After  all  these  years  of  living  among  gentle  people, 
surrounded  by  the  things  that  come  from  education 
and  refinement,  you  show  an  innate  commonness  (for 
which  I  cannot  account)  by  marrying  this  dreadful 
creature. 

Do  you  expect  me  to  present  such  a  daughter-in- 
law  to  my  friends  ?  Do  you  expect  your  sister  to  wel- 
come such  a  sister-in-law?  (Your  old  friend,  Billy 
Somers,  said  to  her  yesterday:  "Cheer  up,  Eleanor! 
Almost  every  family  has  some  disgraceful  members.") 

One  one  point  you  may  be  very  certain.  Never, 
until  you  can  assure  us  that  the  woman  you  have 
married  has  gone  permanently  out  of  your  life  and 
your  future,  need  you  write  or  plan  to  see  your  sister 

or  your  heart-broken  ,  , 

MOTHER. 

Effie  read  the  letter  three  times;  then, 
sitting  motionless,  stared,  unseeing,  at  the 
wall  in  front  of  her.  For  once  the  palm-tree 
rasped  unheeded  against  the  house;  the 
waves  on  the  beach  moaned  to  deaf  ears. 

Hot  weather  came  early  that  year,  and 
broke  all  records.  Daylight,  and  a  molten 


Guam— and  Effie  239 

copper  sun,  seemed  to  spring  flaming  over 
the  misty  horizon  line  long  before  the  glare 
of  the  day  before  had  faded  from  tired  eyes. 
It  was  a  time  to  test  the  endurance  of  the 
strongest,  and  Effie  had  neither  the  strength 
nor  the  logic  necessary  to  face  the  long  days. 
She  slept  so  lightly  that  the  sound  of  the  sea 
and  the  rustle  of  the  palm-tree  seemed  burned 
into  her  consciousness,  as  the  brazen  sky 
and  oily  water  burned  on  her  sight.  She 
found  herself  trying  to  concentrate  her  at- 
tention on  the  wall,  the  floor,  the  table,  to 
hold  them  by  sheer  will-power,  from  swing- 
ing and  swaying  in  the  glare.  She  longed 
for  the  night,  that  she  might  escape  from 
the  long  hiss  of  the  slow  waves,  the  sawing 
of  the  palm-leaves  against  the  house. 

And  when  Hugh  was  at  home  he  read 
books ! 

"Guam's  a  great  place,  Effie,"  he  told 
her;  "you'll  never  have  time  to  study  and 
read  as  you  have  here !  Dickens,  Thackeray, 
Stevenson — I  never  knew  before  how  won- 
derful Stevenson  is !  You'd  love  some  of 
his  stories  if  you'd  read  them." 

"What  are  they  about  ?"  asked  Effie. 


240  Guam — and  Effie 

"All  sorts  of  things!  A  lot  of  the  best 
ones  are  about  islands.  I'll  bring  some  over." 

Effie  never  opened  them. 

" You're  reading  poetry,  now,"  she  said 
one  evening,  looking  over  his  shoulder. 

Hugh  glanced  up  apologetically.  "Seems 
foolish  for  a  man,  doesn't  it?"  he  said. 
"Rossetti,  too!" 

She  read  it  slowly: 

"  'Nay,  why 

Name  the  dead  hours  ?     I  mind  them  well: 
Their  ghosts  in  many  darkened  doorways  dwell 
With  desolate  eyes  to  know  them  by.' 

"It  doesn't  rhyme,"  said  Effie. 

Hugh  smiled.  "I  don't  believe  he  meant 
it  to  rhyme — but  here  !  I'll  read  some  Tenny- 
son that  rhymes:  'The  Lady  of  Shallot.' ' 

He  read  it  through. 

"I  like  that  better,"  agreed  Effie.  "Not 
the  island  nor  the  Sir — the  'tirralirra'  man. 
We  once  had  a  property-man  with  coal-black 
curls.  Greasy  old  thing!" 

"Now  you  try  reading  one.  There's  a 
dandy  called  'The  Lotus  Eaters.' ' 

"What's  it  about  ?"  asked  Effie. 

"Oh,    an    island    something   like   this.      I 


Guam— and  Effie  241 

think  of  it  when  I'm  walking  to  the  office 
and  see  the  blue  sky  running  into  the  blue 
ocean  and  the  heavy  sunshine,  and  smell  the 
ilang-ilang.  Tennyson  might  have  been  writ- 
ing of  Guam!" 

Effie  laid  the  volume  down.  "All  the  books 
that  were  ever  written  are  about  islands  or 
the  sea,"  she  thought  desperately. 

"Hugh,"  she  ventured,  "does  Major  Forde 
know  your  sister  well  ?" 

Hugh  closed  his  book.  "I  should  rather 
guess  not,"  he  said.  "Nell  wouldn't  bother 
with  him  for  a  minute !  He  likes  to  pretend 
to  know  people — calls  women  he  has  met 
once  or  twice  by  their  first  names — he's  really 
an  awful  bounder.  I  wouldn't  have  him 
here  so  much,  if  I  were  you." 

"I  don't  like  him — but  he's  some  one  to 
talk  to,"  said  Effie,  and  added  slowly:  "Your 
mother  and  sister  will  never  know  me,  will 
they?" 

Hugh  flushed  and  swallowed  hard.  "If 
they  won't  they'll  never  know  me  either," 
he  said.  "We'll  work  it  out  together,  Effie; 
only  you  must  read  and  study  while  we  are 
here.  You'll  be  glad,  when  we  get  to  some 


242  Guam— and  Effie 

livelier  place,  that  you  put  your  time  in  well 
while  you  could." 

"How  long  will  it  be  before  we  go  to  the 
livelier  place  ?  I  mean,  how  long  will  we 
be  here  ?" 

"About  two  years — that's  the  usual  term 
of  duty." 

Effie  gasped.  Two  years  !  They  had  been 
there  not  quite  four  months.  Twenty  more 
months  !  Eighty-eight  weeks  !  Six  hundred 
and  five  days !  In  the  silence  the  cocoanut- 
palm  sounded  like  a  giant  file  against  the 
wall;  the  waves  gave  a  gloating  chuckle  as 
they  broke  lazily  on  the  sand. 

"Doctor  and  Mrs.  Putnam  and  Major 
Forde  are  going  on  the  transport  that  stops 
day  after  to-morrow,"  said  Effie. 

"Good  riddance  to  Forde.  The  new  marine 
officer  is  a  nice  fellow,  but  his  wife  is  another 
one  of  the  card-sharps." 

Mrs.  Putnam  and  Major  Forde,  her  only 
bulwarks  against  the  unending  days !  Effie 
pressed  her  hands  over  her  eyes. 

Hugh,  glancing  up,  noticed  the  whiteness 
of  her  face.  "Aren't  you  feeling  well,  Effie  ?" 
he  asked  anxiously.  "  You'd  better  go  to 


Guam— and  Effie  243 

bed.  I'll  have  to  be  at  the  office  late  to-mor- 
row evening,  getting  out  those  specifications 
the  governor  decided  on  to-day.  He  wants 
them  to  go  on  the  transport.  Don't  wait 
up  for  me,  will  you  ?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "I'm  going  to  walk 
until  I  get  tired,  to-morrow — so  I'll  feel 
sleepy,"  she  said. 

Hugh  spoke  again  of  her  pallor  when  she 
poured  out  his  coffee  at  the  breakfast-table. 
"You  had  better  lie  low,  Effie;  it's  going 
to  be  a  scorching  day.  The  trade-wind  has 
dropped;  it's  preparing  for  a  typhoon." 

"I'll  stick  to  the  house,"  she  promised. 

After  he  had  gone  she  moved  about  putting 
things  to  rights,  straightening  the  napkin  that 
did  duty  for  a  table-cover,  rearranging  the 
folds  of  the  curtains,  interviewing  the  sleepy 
cook  and  drowsy  house  boy.  It  was  so  hot 
that  the  sky,  like  an  inverted  copper  bowl, 
was  reflected  in  the  still  water.  Effie  looked 
at  the  earth  wavering  feverishly  in  the  heat 
haze  and,  going  to  her  bedroom,  buried  her 
face  in  the  pillows. 

The  morning  crept  by  in  leaden  minutes. 
After  an  interminable  time  she  could  hear 


i 


244  Guam— and  Effie 

the  house  boy  setting  the  luncheon-table; 
then  Hugh  came  in,  his  white  uniform  wet 
with  perspiration.  "Guess  I'll  have  to  take 
time  for  a  plunge,"  he  called. 

Effie  lifted  her  aching  head  and  shook  back 
her  damp  hair.  "Is  it  as  hot  as  this  all  the 
time  ?"  she  asked. 

"No,  later  there's  a  rainy  season  when 
everything  mildews;  your  shoes  grow  green 
whiskers,  inside  and  out,  overnight.  But 
cheer  up,  Effie !  To-day  breaks  all  records. 
You  wouldn't  mind  so  much  if  you'd  read 
and  divert  your  mind." 

"I  haven't  any  mind  to  divert — and  it's 
too  hot  to  work  it  if  I  had,"  she  answered 
indifferently. 

After  luncheon  she  went  back  to  her  room 
and  lay,  during  the  long  afternoon,  with  her 
face  turned  from  the  window.  Sometimes 
she  dozed,  coming  back  to  consciousness 
with  a  sharp  jerk,  like  an  animal  pulled  up 
short  by  its  tethering  chain.  At  dinner-time 
she  changed  her  dress  and  tried  to  tidy  her 
hair,  but  the  long  red-gold  strands  clung  to 
her  damp  neck  and  wound  tightly  around 
her  arms  with  an  almost  fiendish  persistency; 


Guam— and  Effie  245 

roughly  she  pulled  her  hand  loose,  jarring 
her  head  and  bringing  tears  to  her  eyes.  "I'd 
think  it  was  trying  to  see  how  miserable  it 
could  make  me,"  she  fretted  childishly. 

At  dinner  even  Hugh  owned  to  being  tired. 
"Awful  day !  I'll  be  home  earlier  than  I 
expected,  though;  we  put  things  through 
with  a  bang!" 

"Don't  have  the  house  boy  stay;  I'd  rather 
have  him  asleep  at  home  than  in  the  kitchen. 
Fll  take  down  the  old  revolver,  then  I  won't 
be  frightened,"  said  Effie. 

"I'd  be  frightened  if  I  thought  you  would 
try  to  use  it,"  laughed  Hugh.  "Good-by, 
dear,  I'll  be  back  in  a  couple  of  hours." 

In  her  room,  after  locking  the  doors  and 
arming  herself  with  the  revolver,  Effie  sat 
on  the  floor  by  a  window  and,  resting  her 
elbows  on  the  sill,  looked  out  into  the  velvety 
blackness  of  the  tropical  night.  It  was  cooler; 
the  fishing-boats  were  out  and  the  flare  of 
their  dry  cocoanut  torches  blossomed  with 
fitful  intensity;  deer,  plundering  gardens  on 
the  outskirts  of  Agana,  barked  with  impudent 
recklessness;  gecko  lizards  scurried  across 
the  wall.  The  big  stars  seemed  so  near  and 


246  Guam— and  Effie 

bright  as  to  be  almost  friendly.  Effie  felt 
a  lessening  of  the  day's  fever  and  tension. 

"To-morrow,"  she  thought,  "I  will  begin 
to  take  an  interest,"  for  in  spite  of  his  mother's 
letter,  Hugh  talked  to  her  of  the  future,  never 
intimating  that  they  would  not  spend  the 
years  ahead  together. 

She  would  like  to  discuss  his  mother's  letter 
with  him,  but  dared  not  bring  the  subject 
up. 

"I'm  going  to  begin  studying  to-morrow" 
vowed  Effie.  "I  may  be  a  *  creature/  but  I 
needn't  be  an  ignorant  one !  To-morrow  I'll 
begin !  To-morrow— 

A  fumbling  knock  on  the  front  door  was 
repeated.  Effie  went  silently  out,  revolver 
in  hand.  "Who's  there  ?"  she  called. 

"Major  Forde,  Mrs.  Meredith  !  The  trans- 
port's sighted,  and  I  didn't  know  whether 
I'd  have  time  to  say  good-by  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

She  laughed  as  she  opened  the  door.  "I 
was  all  ready!"  she  said,  holding  up  the 
pistol. 

Major  Forde  balanced  unsteadily  in  the 
doorway.  "Don't  shoot  me  now"  he  begged. 


Guam— and  Effie  247 

"I'm  getting  away  in  the  morning!  Saw 
Hugh  at  the  office  and  thought  I'd  drop  in." 

Effie  glanced  at  his  flushed  face.  "Good- 
by  party,  I  suppose,"  she  commented  dryly. 

"You  suppose  correctly,"  he  said,  and  sat 
down. 

Effie  looked  at  him  uneasily  and  wished 
that  he  would  go.  Hugh  would  soon  be  home, 
and  wouldn't  like  finding  the  major  there. 

"Transport's  in  sight !  All  aboard !  It's 
a  light  trip — hardly  any  one  travelling,"  said 
Major  Forde. 

Effie  caught  her  breath. 

"Better  come  along — lots  of  room,"  he 
said. 

"How  I  wish  I  could  !"  she  cried  fervently. 

"Come  along!  Mrs.  Putnam's  too  sick 
to  leave  her  stateroom;  she  transfers  to  a 
passenger  steamer  at  the  first  stop,  and  no 
one  else  will  know  the  difference." 

Effie  stared  at  him  scornfully.  "Go  with 
you?  Nothing  like  that!"  she  said  with 
brutal  honesty. 

An  ugly  look  came  into  his  face.  "I'll 
see  your  husband's  mother  and  sister  soon. 
Want  to  send  them  any  message  ?" 


248  Guam— and  Effie 

"When  I  do  I'll  send  it  by  some  one  they 
know,"  answered  Effie. 

He  stood  up.  "I'll  be  damned  at  the  airs 
the  chorus  puts  on  when  it  gets  a  chance ! 
You'd  better  be  grateful  when  people  bother 
to  speak  to  you " 

He  stopped. 

Hugh  stood  in  the  doorway.  "I  heard 
what  you  said,  Forde.  Get  out — and  be 
quick  about  it,"  he  said. 

The  major  glared  at  him;  his  innate 
cowardice  bade  him  accept  his  humiliation 
and  sneak  away,  but  the  bravado  and  pre- 
tense of  years  were  second  nature.  "Fine 
airs!  Fine  airs!"  he  bellowed.  "Bringing 
a  chorus  girl  out  here  and  trying  to  make 
decent  people  think  you're  married  to  her ! 
Guess  you  didn't  fool  me !  Guess  you  didn't 
fool  any  one — don't  you  dare  strike  at  me  /" 
he  shrieked,  and  snatched  at  the  old  revolver 
lying  on  the  table. 

Over  the  noise  of  the  scuffle  and  the  thud 
of  an  overturned  chair  Effie's  scream,  as  she 
dashed  forward,  mingled  with  the  sharp  re- 
port of  the  revolver. 

Then,  as  the  smoke  cleared,  she  tottered 


Guam— and  Effie  249 

and  fell,  a  limp  heap,  while  a  slowly  spread- 
ing stain  showed  startlingly  against  the  white- 
ness of  her  dress. 

"Satisfied  now,  Forde  ?"  asked  Hugh,  and 
knelt  beside  her  as  two  officers,  who  had 
heard  the  explosion,  came  breathlessly  up 
the  steps. 

She  lived  a  few  hours. 

Toward  dawn,  in  that  still  time  when  na- 
ture seems  to  hold  its  breath,  she  regained 
consciousness  and  whispered:  "Hugh."  Then 
as  he  leaned  to  hear  the  feeble  voice :  "  Don't 
cry — better — so,"  she  said. 

Dumbly,  the  lonely  soul  looked  through 
her  heavy  eyes.  "I  read — your  mother's — 
letter.  She  won't — mind  now."  Few  words 
and  light  to  lie  like  an  impassable  barrier 
across  the  years,  separating  the  mother, 
fiercely  mourning  her  boy,  from  the  man 
who  returned. 

Outside  the  cool  wind  that  ushers  in  the 
dawn  moved  the  palm-leaves  stealthily 
against  the  house;  on  the  beach  the  slow 
waves  curved  into  foam.  They  sounded 
clearly  in  the  quiet  room. 


250  Guam— and  Effie 

She  heard.  The  feeble  ghost  of  her  re- 
pulsion flickered  for  a  second  in  her  face. 
With  the  last  of  her  strength  she  whispered: 
"That  tree — and  the  sound  of — the  water — 
how  I — hate  them ". 


XII 
FLAGS 

THERE  is  only  one  flag  that  takes  prece- 
dence over  the  Stars  and  Stripes. 

At  a  given  hour  on  Sunday  mornings 
aboard  the  dreadnoughts  and  battleships  of 
the  United  States  Navy  the  American  flag 
is  hauled  down.  When  it  is  hoisted  again 
it  takes  second  place  under  the  banner  bear- 
ing the  emblem  of  the  Church  of  God.  Aboard 
dreadnoughts,  battleships,  and  transports  of 
the  navy,  except  for  the  time  that  white  flag 
holds  the  place  of  honor,  the  chaplain  is  a 
free-lance;  but  this  does  not  mean  that  the 
chaplain  is  idle. 

The  huge  transport  alongside  the  stone 
pier  had  suddenly  ceased  being  the  centre 
of  interest.  For  ten  days  a  constant  stream 
of  cargo,  provisions,  army  equipment,  stores, 
and  baggage,  had  gone  up  the  gangways,  but 
on  this  eleventh  day,  except  for  the  usual 

activities  of  the  sailors — the  transports  are 

251 


254  Flags 

ward  !  The  day  before  I  left,  one  of  the  Germans  ac- 
tually thanked  me  for  doing  something  !  I  was  startled  ! 
I  couldn't  decide  whether  to  take  his  temperature  or 
paste  an  adhesive-plaster  medal  on  him. 

Quite  unexpectedly  before  I  went  to  my  new  ward 
I  was  sent  up  to  Paris  about  some  delayed  supplies, 
and  how  I  longed  for  you !  However,  I  did  see  three 
American  sailors  and,  except  for  their  air  of  stern,  un- 
compromising rectitude  in  what  they  had  evidently 
been  warned  was  a  gay  city,  I  should  have  gone  up 
and  spoken  to  them — and  been  snubbed  for  a  brazen, 
designing  Jezzie-bell !  As  it  was,  I  smiled  at  them — 
to  their  great  embarrassment. 

Dad,  dear,  isn't  it  a  beautiful  privilege  to  be  allowed 
to  help  win  this  war  ?  All  of  us — the  boys  in  the  army, 
marine  corps,  and  navy.  You  and  I.  The  women 
at  home.  Every  one.  Putting  our  shoulder  to  the 
wheel,  so  that  defenseless  small  nations  may  know 
that  to  only  a  few  blood-drunk,  lust-mad  brutes  does 
might  make  right. 

Lately  German  aviators  have  been  busily  engaged 
in  trying  to  bomb  our  hospital  buildings  and  the  houses 
where  the  nurses  are  lodged.  It's  boring,  after  you've 
been  on  your  feet  all  day  and  have  just  achingly  hoisted 
yourself  into  bed,  to  have  to  get  up  and  speed  down 
to  the  cellar  and  cling  to  some  one.  I  wish  I  had  a 
long-range  voice  and  could  hoot  into  those  aviators' 
ears:  "Never  touched  us,  you  big  bullies  !" 

But  when  it's  all  over — all  cleaned  up — you  and  I 
are  going  to  have  our  house  in  the  country,  with 
mother's  portrait  over  the  mantel — and  you  can  raise 
asparagus  and  I'll  raise  chickens.  Do  you  mind  if 
I  specialize  on  white  Wyandottes  ?  I  know  that  Rhode 


Flags  255 

Island  Reds  are  the  best  layers,  but  they're  such  a 
homely  color. 

This  letter  should  reach  you  before  you  leave  Amer- 
ica; I'll  have  another  letter  or  a  message  waiting  for 
you  when  you  arrive  in  France.  I  can't  tell  yet  whether 
I  can  get  off  or  whether  you'll  have  to  visit  me  here. 
At  any  rate,  every  day  now  will  bring  you  nearer  to 
Yours  most  lovingly,  dad,  dear,  ^ 

P.  S. — Do  you  know  that  sometimes  when  the  horror 
of  all  this  suffering  used  to  get  the  better  of  me  I  longed 
for  our  garden — the  one  we  are  going  to  have.  But 
lately  I've  felt  that  I  could  almost  plan  how  I  would 
have  the  flowers  planted — they  are  actually  "casting 
their  shadows,"  they're  so  near!  What  is  it  you  say 
when  you  go  into  a  room  where  some  one  is  very  ill: 
"Peace  to  this  house  and  all  who  dwell  therein !"  Isn't 
it? 

I  wonder  if  any  garden  can  ever  equal  the  beautiful 
peace  of  these  scarred  battle-fields  when  the  wild  flowers 
and  blossoming  orchards  cover  them  again  ?  God 
grant  it  may  be  soon !  But,  dad,  I  feel  so  strongly 
that  peace  is  very  near. 

The  chaplain's  eyes  were  bright  with  ex- 
cited anticipation  as  he  laid  the  letter  down. 
He  could  hardly  wait  to  see  his  daughter 
and  tell  her  the  great  news. 

A  week  ago,  while  spending  forty-eight 
hours*  leave  with  a  friend  of  divinity-school 
days  at  his  parsonage  in  a  Connecticut  vil- 


252  Flags 

manned  by  officers  and  sailors  of  the  navy — 
and  the  lowering  of  four  gangways,  two  for- 
ward, two  aft,  there  was  a  suspension  of  ac- 
tivities. 

Breakfast  in  the  improvised  ward-room 
was  over.  The  chaplain,  realizing  that  on 
this  eventful  day  there  would  be  small  op- 
portunity for  him  to  pursue  his  regular  duties, 
went  to  his  cabin  and  after  reading  the  lesson 
for  the  day  and,  as  was  his  practice,  the  lesson 
for  the  approaching  Sunday,  turned  to  the 
last  mail,  which  had  just  been  put  aboard. 

Such  a  quantity  of  letters !  Forwarded 
from  a  dozen  places  by  a  score  of  harassed 
officers  to  whom  anxious  relatives  hoping  to 
reach  an  official  eye — and  ear — had  written 
last  directions,  messages,  complaints,  and 
warnings.  There  was  an  almost  monotonous 
pathos  in  the  recurrence  of  the  words  "my 
boy." 

The  chaplain  read  all  of  them  and  made 
many  notes,  commencing  with  a  reassuring 
letter  to  the  worried  wife  of  one  of  the  trans- 
port's crew  who  questioned:  "The  allotment 
officer,  in  his  report,  changed  my  little  girl 
into  a  little  boy.  Will  it  make  any  difference 


Flags  253 

in  my  allowance  ?"  and  ending  with  a  com- 
forting answer  to  a  tear-stained  scrawl  from 
a  sick  and  elderly  mother. 

"War  is  easiest  on  the  men,"  commented 
the  chaplain,  looking  with  wistful  helpless- 
ness at  the  pile  of  letters. 

From  outside,  far  away  to  landward,  came 
the  high,  faint  call  of  bugles.  On  the  trans- 
port arose  sounds  of  increasing  activities; 
a  petty  officer  and  a  company  of  sailors 
marched  across  the  deck  and  descended  to 
the  pier,  where  they  were  stationed  in  twos 
at  the  foot  of  each  gangway.  The  executive 
officer  called  a  sharp  question,  which  the 
officer  of  the  deck  changed  to  a  quick  com- 
mand. Some  noisy  tugs  approached.  The 
chaplain,  unheeding,  took  up  his  last  letter; 
it  was  from  his  daughter,  who  as  a  Red  Cross 
nurse  was  serving  in  a  hospital  just  behind 
the  lines. 


DEAR  DAD: 

It  seems  too  good  to  be  true  that  I  shall  see  you  so 
soon !  I'm  counting  the  days.  Well,  I  finished  my 
time  in  the  wounded  prisoners'  ward  satisfactorily. 
If  such  a  thing  is  possible,  I  worked  even  harder  for 
them  than  I  do  for  our  own  men — and  I  had  my  re- 


256  Flags 

lage,  the  chaplain  had  gone  for  a  walk  to 
the  top  of  a  near-by  hill,  and  had  chanced 
upon  the  house  of  his  dreams.  White,  and 
low,  and  old,  it  nestled  in  a  sheltered  hollow 
and  faced  seaward  to  where  the  Sound  glinted 
in  the  sunshine  and  gulls  on  flashing  wings 
swooped  and  quarrelled.  And  inside,  a  wide 
centre  hall — just  as  Rose  and  he  had  so  often 
planned !  But  the  miracle — the  incredible 
miracle — had  been  disclosed  when  the  brass- 
knobbed  door  swung  back  on  a  square  parlor, 
panelled  in  white-painted  wood  from  floor  to 
ceiling. 

The  chaplain,  remembering  Rose's  wistful 
remark,  "We  never  can  afford  the  real,  so 
we'd  better  not  even  think  about  it,"  had 
gasped.  "The  original  panelling?"  he  had 
questioned  barely  above  a  whisper. 

The  woman  who  was  showing  him  over 
the  house  and  who  had  told  him  that  the 
old  farm  was  for  sale  because  a  son  who  had 
gone  West  was  "doing  so  well  that  he  wanted 
the  old  folks  to  join  him,"  had  nodded  dis- 
paragingly: 'That  parlor's  just  the  way 
great-grandfather  built  it.  We  never  had  the 
money  to  make  any  improvements."  she  said. 


Flags  257 

The  chaplain,  pausing,  had  visualized  the 
mellow  old  room  when  Rose  should  have 
installed  their  household  treasures.  Her 
mother's  portrait — painted  by  a  great  artist 
in  the  spontaneous  days  before  fame  had 
claimed  (and  hampered)  him — would  hang 
on  the  wide  panel  over  the  fireplace.  On 
the  narrow  mantel  would  stand  the  ivory 
carving  acquired  in  Kyoto.  There  had  only 
been  enough  money  to  buy  a  kimono  or  the 
carving,  and  Rose,  after  a  longing  glance  at 
the  embroidered  roses  on  the  delicate  silk 
ground,  had  chosen  the  unfading  beauty  of 
the  Japanese  maiden  standing  on  tiptoes  to 
light  a  fragile  ivory  lantern — "To  guide  you 
safely  home  when  your  seagoing  days  are 
over,  dad,"  she  had  interpreted.  Then  there 
were  the  Chinese  bronze,  the  old  embroidery, 
the  grooved  and  fretted  Moro  bowl — waiting 
patiently  for  that  long-anticipated  home. 

And  the  price  named  for  the  house  and 
eight  acres  of  orchard  and  meadow  had  been 
within  obtainable  reach.  The  chaplain  had 
paid  the  first  instalment  that  day. 

"It's  too  good  to  be  true!"  the  chaplain 
had  whispered,  standing  in  the  neglected 


258  Flags 

garden  and  looking  to  where  the  gnarled 
old  apple-trees  showed  the  pink  of  blossoms 
against  an  unclouded  sky,  and  irregular  stone 
fences  were  silvery  gray  across  the  spring- 
time green.  From  somewhere  near  a  robin 
had  fluttered  down  and,  balancing,  had  called 
— and  waited — and  called  again. 

That  robin  was  a  last  drop  in  the  brim- 
ming measure  of  the  chaplain's  delight  and 
satisfaction.  He  could  hardly  wait  to  tell 
Rose 

Across  his  day-dream  the  increasing  noise 
outside  struck  sharply.  The  bugles  were  very 
near  now  and  drums  added  their  pulse-like 
beat.  In  the  passageway  the  doctor,  hurrying 
past,  called  cheerily:  "Better  get  up  on  deck, 
padre — they're  coming!" 

Quickly  the  chaplain  gathered  up  the 
scattered  letters  into  a  neat  pile  and,  putting 
away  his  books,  reached  the  deck  just  as 
the  bugles  sounded  at  the  pier  end  and  the 
band  swung  into  position.  There  was  a  flash 
of  red,  white,  and  blue  as  the  flag  whipped 
out  on  the  breeze  and  the  color-bearers 
wheeled  into  line.  Again  the  bugles,  high 
and  clear,  sang  their  overlapping  orders; 


Flags  259 

behind  the  flag,  row  on  row,  filling  the  wide 
pier  with  the  olive  drab  of  their  uniforms, 
came  the  men  of  America's  new  army,  and 
marched  toward  the  transport,  while  the 
band  fared  cheerfully  into  the  music  of  "The 
Long  Trail." 

The  doctor  and  the  chaplain  watched  the 
lines  of  soldiers  advance  and  divide.  At  the 
foot  of  the  gangways,  sailors,  stationed  there, 
threw  around  each  soldier's  neck  a  cord,  to 
which  was  attached  a  card  bearing  the  number 
of  that  soldier's  compartment,  his  bunk,  and 
his  food-station.  Also  certain  instructions 
for  troops. 

At  the  top  of  the  gangways  naval  officers 
waited  and,  when  one  hundred  and  fifty  sol- 
diers had  gathered,  led  them  to  the  compart- 
ment assigned.  And  all  the  time  the  band 
played  steadily  the  songs  of  the  old  and  new 
armies:  "The  Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me,"  "Tip- 
perary,"  "Good-by,  Dolly  Gray,"  "Sons  of 
America,"  "Tramp,  Tramp,  Tramp,  the  Boys 
Are  Marching,"  "There'll  Be  a  Hot  Time," 
and  "Over  There." 

For  two  hours  the  monotonous  tramp  of 
marching  feet  continued,  broken  only  by 


260  Flags 

the  occasional  soldier  who  lost  step  smuggling 
some  favorite  animal  aboard.  "When  all 
those  felines  get  shaken  down  and  feel  at 
home,  we  will  wake  up  some  night  and  imag- 
ine that  the  ship  has  sprouted  a  back  fence," 
remarked  the  doctor,  as  he  observed  the 
struggles  of  one  youthful  soldier  and  a  large, 
unabashed,  and  needlessly  conspicuous  gray 
cat. 

"He's  hungry — so  am  I!"  volunteered  the 
boy. 

So  were  all  of  them.  Hardly  were  they 
aboard  when  they  became  one  vociferous, 
empty  interrogation-point.  The  tugs,  puffing 
and  shrieking  alongside,  assailed  ears  that 
were  deaf  to  all  sound  but  the  impending 
mess-call.  Lined  up,  their  mess-gear  in  hand, 
they  were  conscious  that  the  ship  moved — 
and  did  not  care  when,  promptly  at  noon, 
more  than  a  dozen  modern  cafeterias  broke 
all  speed  records  in  serving  food  to  the  long 
lines  of  marching  men.  Thousands  of  sol- 
diers were  fed  in  less  than  twenty  minutes. 

In  the  ward-room  the  executive  officer 
took  his  seat  at  one  end  of  the  lengthened 
table  and  smiled  at  the  chaplain,  far  away 


Flags  261 

at  the  foot.  "Our  family's  grown,  padre," 
he  called  cheerfully.  "Feel  as  though  I  were 
looking  at  you  through  the  wrong  end  of  a 
telescope !" 

The  army  officers  commanding  the  regi- 
ments aboard  joined  in  the  conversation 
gradually.  Slowly  there  came  the  hum  of 
the  engines — the  transport  was  under  way. 

When  the  chaplain  joined  the  officers  in 
the  ward-room  for  breakfast  the  next  morn- 
ing the  transport  was  well  out  to  sea  and 
already,  among  the  thousands  of  men  aboard, 
an  organization  for  efficiency  in  the  daily 
routine,  and  in  case  of  emergency,  was  being 
perfected.  The  chaplain,  returning  to  his 
cabin,  heard  the  army  officers  explaining  to 
their  men  the  need  of  cleanliness.  "They 
were  not  to  add  to  the  work  of  the  transport's 
crew  by  throwing  anything  on  the  decks. 
And  nothing  was  to  be  thrown  overboard, 
for  fear  of  leaving  a  trail  by  which  an  enemy's 
submarine  could  track  them  over  the  road 
of  the  sea.  Every  compartment  must  be 
ready  to  bear  inspection  at  all  times." 

The  chaplain  finished  reading  the  lesson 


262  Flags 

for  the  day  just  as  the  bugle  sounded  "quar- 
ters," and  he  lined  up  with  the  other  naval 
officers  who  handed  the  report  for  their  divi- 
sions to  the  executive  officer  and  accounted 
for  such  sailors  as  were  absent  in  the  sick- 
bay or  the  brig.  The  chaplain,  having  no 
department,  merely  answered,  "At  quarters, 
sir,"  when  his  turn  came.  ("I'm  always  glad 
to  know  that  you  haven't  fallen  overboard, 
padre,"  the  executive  had  jocularly  remarked 
when,  at  different  times,  the  chaplain  had 
absent-mindedly  forgotten  "quarters.") 

This  finished,  the  chaplain  started  on  his 
rounds.  The  sick-bay  harbored  three  pa- 
tients, and  the  chaplain  spent  an  argumenta- 
tive hour  discussing  the  Red  Sox's  last  game. 
Perhaps  because  he  had  been  a  well-known 
athlete  during  his  college  days,  his  reign  as 
umpire  of  games  between  the  baseball  and 
football  teams  of  rival  ships  had  outlasted 
that  of  many  less-qualified  judges,  partic- 
ularly as  the  chaplain  had  acquired  the  neces- 
sary boon  of  deafness  during  certain  hotly 
contested  crises. 

"I  guess  it's  lucky  that  I  really  don't  un- 
derstand what  they  are  yelling,  sometimes," 


Flags  263 

the  chaplain  explained  apologetically  to  the 
executive,  who  was  only  too  glad  to  enlist 
"the  padre's"  assistance  in  dealing  with  a 
certain  type  of  sullen  trouble-maker.  It  was 
an  unusual  brand  of  moodiness  that  could 
withstand  a  boxing-bout  with  the  chaplain, 
who  staged  his  performance  on  the  hilarious 
lower  deck. 

Outside,  as  he  left  the  sick-bay,  he  stopped 
to  watch  a  company  of  soldiers  who  were 
taking  instruction  in  the  adjustment  and  use 
of  life-preservers,  and  smiled  to  see  one  in- 
tent lad  seriously  considering  their  adapt- 
ability to  his  feet. 

"That  attempt  to  stand  on  the  water  never 
gets  outlawed,"  mused  the  chaplain,  edging 
his  way  past  a  group  that  were  busily  en- 
gaged in  preparing  a  mountainous  heap  of 
vegetables  for  dinner. 

The  brig  was  sparsely  tenanted;  the  chap- 
lain, after  a  short  talk  with  the  sailor  there, 
found  the  trouble  to  be  one  of  misunderstand- 
ing rather  than  the  apparently  deliberate 
intention  of  wrong-doing.  A  few  moments' 
conversation  with  the  executive  released  the 
prisoner  and  returned  him  to  the  busy  deck, 


264  Flags 

where  lookouts  were  being  selected  and  in- 
structed, boat  drills  carried  forward,  meals 
being  prepared,  watches  arranged,  and  clean- 
ing and  scrubbing  always  under  way. 

On  deck,  as  the  soldiers  lined  up  for  mess- 
call,  some  one  started  a  song.  Around  the 
ship  it  swept  from  one  group  to  another; 
a  second  and  third  song  followed  until  the 
opening  of  the  cafeterias  made  a  vitally  im- 
portant and  serious  interruption. 

At  the  ward-room  luncheon-table  the  chap- 
lain found  himself  precipitated  into  a  dis- 
cussion on  the  nationality  of  religions  and 
was  promptly  appealed  to  for  a  decision.  "I 
didn't  hear  the  first  of  this,"  he  apologized. 

An  army  officer  leaned  forward:  "I  started 
it,  sir,  with  a  story  that  one  of  the  English 
naval  officers  in  Washington  told  me.  It 
was  about  sending  church-parties  ashore  from 
their  ships  when  they  are  in  port,  and  he 
said:  'So,  on  Sunday  morning,  when  the 
ship's  company  was  mustered,  I  called  out: 
"Church  of  England,  fall  in  on  the  right ! 
Catholic  Church,  fall  in  on  the  left !  Fancy 
religions,  fall  in  at  the  rear!"  and  still  there 
were  three  men  left  over.  "Why  didn't  you 


Flags  265 

fall  in?"  I  demanded.  "We  didn't  know 
where  we  belonged,"  one  of  them  answered, 
and  added:  "We're  Mormons!" 

*  Did  you  ever  hear  such  cheeky  beggars  ? 
"Mormons!"  I  told  them.  "Well,  if  that 
isn't  fancy  I  don't  know  what  is."  And 
then  he  asked  me:  'It's  an  American  religion 
purely,  isn't  it?'." 

"Is  it,  padre?"  called  several  voices.  But 
the  chaplain  laughed  and  denied  any  infor- 
mation on  the  subject. 

"If  there's  one  person  in  the  world  that 
doesn't  know  anything  about  fancy  religion 
it's  the  padre,"  affirmed  the  executive  warmly, 
and  added  to  the  army  officer  next  him:  "The 
chaplain's  the  finest  sportsman  I  know — with 
all  a  sportsman's  intolerance  of  cowards  or 
sneaks." 

After  luncheon  he  spent  two  busy  hours 
giving  out  books  from  the  library,  answering 
questions  about  new  regulations,  compulsory 
and  voluntary  allotments,  and  explaining 
the  new  war-insurance  act. 

"Of  course  I  know  it's  good,"  he  assured 
a  cautious  sailor.  "I  wouldn't  sleep  so  well 
at  night  if  I  didn't  know  that,  in  case  any- 


266  Flags 

thing  happens  to  me,  I've  taken  out  enough 
insurance  to  give  my  daughter  a  start." 

Later  the  chaplain  had  his  first  intimate 
view  of  the  soldiers,  who  when  not  busy  spent 
their  time  on  deck.  Shyly  he  approached 
them,  wondering  if  they  were  discussing  the 
hardships  they  would  bear,  the  sacrifices  they 
must  make,  the  battles  in  which,  no  doubt, 
some  of  them  would  lay  down  their  lives. 

But  no !  The  conversations  swung  from 
the  dignitaries  of  their  little  home  towns 
to  the  leading  characters  in  the  latest  Broad- 
way shows;  from  the  description  of  a  closely 
contested  polo-match  to  the  grim  details  of 
a  coal-mine  accident;  from  the  account  of 
the  escapades  of  a  college  fraternity's  hazing 
delegates  to  a  laconic  outline  of  the  experi- 
ences of  a  band  of  prospectors  during  a  desert 
sand-storm. 

The  chaplain  went  from  group  to  group  of 
the  heterogeneous  crowd  who,  in  response  to 
the  call  of  their  country,  had  put  on  the  khaki 
or  the  blue.  There  were  men  from  all  the 
professions;  there  were  multimillionaires  and 
laborers;  country  lads  who  had  never  seen 
more  water  than  flows  through  a  farmyard 


Flags  267 

pasture;  adventurers  who  had  voyaged  on 
all  the  Seven  Seas;  men  from  little  hamlets; 
others,  familiar  with  the  great  cities  of  every 
continent;  men  speaking  three  or  four  lan- 
guages, and  others  who  could  scarcely  achieve 
understandable  English. 

"It's  amazing!"  mused  the  chaplain, 
searching  about  for  lonely  or  homesick-look- 
ing boys — in  need  of  cheering. 

Later  he  drifted  into  the  daily  moving- 
picture  show  and  viewed  the  hair-raising 
episodes  of  a  modern  cinema  courtship.  This 
reel  was  followed  by  a  film  depicting  the  visit 
by  a  murderously  inclined  tramp  to  a  lonely 
house,  where  a  lady  in  evening  dress,  after 
a  heartrending  scene  with  her  mercenary 
and  nomadic  cook,  faced  the  very  long,  very 
dark  night  unprotected.  When  this  was 
finished  the  chaplain  thankfully  moved  out- 
side and  enjoyed  a  few  moments  of  unalloyed 
gratitude  for  the  kindly  fate  that  permitted 
him  to  pursue  a  quiet  and  peaceful  life  aboard 
the  transports  traversing  the  war  zone. 

"There's  nothing  for  me  to  do  here,"  de- 
cided the  chaplain.  "Guess  I'll  tackle  some 
of  those  letters." 


268  Flags 

But  before  he  sat  down  at  his  desk  he 
paused  a  second.  Far  away — he  saw  a  low 
white  house  facing  seaward — and  an  orchard 
where  robins  called — from  blossoming  apple- 
trees.  The  chaplain  was  growing  old — and 
Rose — and  home,  and  happiness — beckoned 
enticingly. 

Long  afterward,  looking  back  over  the 
events  of  that  voyage,  the  chaplain  remem- 
bered with  curious  clearness  that  each  lesson 
for  the  day  had  seemed,  with  a  strange  in- 
sistence, to  sound  a  note  of  warning.  Almost 
monotonously  the  old  prophets  called  across 
the  centuries  their  messages  against  the  futil- 
ity of  human  hopes  and  plans.  Ezekiel — that 
"son  of  man"  from  whom  the  desire  of  his 
eyes  was  taken  at  a  single  stroke;  Isaiah — 
Hosea — and  each  day  he  read  the  lesson  for 
Sunday,  Solomon's  prayer  at  the  dedication 
of  the  temple,  with  its  supplication:  "And 
when  thou  nearest,  forgive."  But  he  went 
his  unheeding  way. 

His  hours  were  crowded  with  varied  duties. 
He  was,  to  the  crew,  an  encyclopaedia  of  in- 
formation on  all  sorts  of  subjects,  and  already 


Flags  269 

he  was  scheduled  to  preside  at  several  wed- 
dings and  christenings  when  the  ship  should 
be  in  port,  after  the  return  voyage.  He  taught 
a  school  for  those  desiring  to  attend;  he  gave 
short  talks  on  French  history,  and  his  volun- 
tary audiences  soon  outgrew  the  quarters 
assigned;  he  held  a  Bible  class.  And  the 
letters  received  from  the  relatives  of  soldiers 
on  the  day  the  transport  sailed  must  be  an- 
swered and,  when  the  voyage  was  over,  the 
sentence  added:  "To-day  I  saw  your  boy, 
well  and  happy,  land,  and  march  away  upon 
the  soil  of  France."  Meanwhile  the  busy 
hours  sped  by;  the  end  of  the  journey  was 
near. 

Sunday  morning  found  the  transport  on 
the  edge  of  the  war  zone,  and,  even  as  the 
bugler  sounded  church-call,  the  lookouts  were 
trebled  and  gunners  took  their  places  at  the 
loaded  guns. 

On  the  quarter-deck  row  after  row  of  mess- 
benches  filled  the  entire  space;  chairs,  for 
the  captain  and  officers,  stood  at  right  angles, 
facing  the  improvised  altar — a  table,  covered 
with  an  altar-cloth,  and  holding  a  brass  cross. 


270  Flags 

Behind  it,  against  the  bulkhead,  was  draped 
an  American  flag;  in  front  of  the  altar,  to 
the  right,  was  the  pulpit;  to  the  left  the  port- 
able organ. 

Promptly,  in  answer  to  the  bugle-call,  a 
steady  stream  of  soldiers  and  sailors  came 
from  all  directions,  until  every  foot  of  avail- 
able space  was  filled.  The  captain  and  officers 
took  their  places;  a  master-at-arms  reported 
all  aft,  and  the  chaplain,  stepping  to  the 
pulpit,  gave  out  the  hymn.  It  was  an  old 
hymn,  and  they  sang  it  vigorously — thou- 
sands of  boyish  voices  ringing  out  across  the 
serene,  sunshiny  sea.  The  lesson  for  the  day 
emphasized  the  general  peacefulness.  It  was 
Solomon's  prayer  at  the  dedication  of  the 
temple — that  prayer  with  an  almost  bell- 
like  refrain:  "Forgive,  forgive,  forgive/' 

There  followed  another  hymn;  then  the 
chaplain  read  the  text  and  commenced  his 
sermon.  It  was  very  little  like  a  sermon 
ashore;  no  tinge  of  "fancy  religion"  colored 
the  plain,  straightforward  discourse.  The 
chaplain  had  been  dealing  with  enlisted  men 
for  years;  he  knew  their  problems  and  their 
temptations,  as  well  as  their  tendencies  toward 


Flags  271 

certain  mistakes,  and  watching  their  intent 
faces,  he  knew  when  a  remark  went  home — 
as  he  warned,  explained,  rebuked,  in  words 
of  incontrovertible  simplicity.  And  in  clos- 
ing he  spoke  of  courage — that  high,  clear 
answer  to  the  call  of  duty  which  has  nothing 
in  common  with  bravado  or  excitement  or 
the  enthusiasms  that  are  so  often  only  imita- 
tive. 

The  service  ended  with  the  singing  of  the 
national  anthem. 

During  the  last  verse  commotion  spread 
among  the  men  nearest  the  rail,  and,  even 
as  the  chaplain  pronounced  the  benediction, 
"The  peace  of  God — which  passeth  all  un- 
derstanding— "  an  orderly  waited  impatiently 
to  report  to  the  captain,  "Convoy  of  de- 
stroyers sighted,  sir!"  and  the  men  crowded 
to  get  a  view  of  the  slim,  knife-bowed  grey- 
hounds advancing,  with  amazing  rapidity, 
on  the  scent  of  trouble.  Swiftly  they  came, 
swept  in  a  wide  circle,  and  fell  in  their  places, 
passing  so  close  that,  as  they  swung  into 
formation,  the  chaplain,  going  to  his  cabin, 
overheard  a  junior  naval  officer  on  the  trans- 
port— under  cover  of  the  soldiers'  cheering — • 


272  Flags 

warily  hail  a  chum  on  the  bridge  of  the  nearest 
destroyer:  "Hi,  Muggy!  Made  a  special 
trip  to  Philadelphia  to  see  your  new  son ! 
Looks  like  you — but  maybe  he'll  outgrow 
it!" 

That  night  every  one  aboard  the  transport 
was  ordered  to  sleep  in  their  clothes  and  to 
wear  life-preservers,  and  in  the  passages  dim 
blue  lights  marked,  at  rare  intervals,  the 
turns  or  ladders. 

But  in  the  morning  land  was  in  sight— 
and  later  a  port  in  France;  a  great,  cheering 
crowd;  the  excited  confusion  of  the  soldiers, 
packing;  good-bys;  a  stone  pier;  the  lowered 
gangways;  once  more  the  monotonous  tramp 
of  feet,  this  time  turned  shoreward — and  over 
all  the  sprightly  cheerfulness  of  the  band, 
the  call  of  bugles.  The  voyage  was  over. 

The  chaplain,  after  numberless  good  wishes 
and  a  lengthy  stand  at  the  rail  watching 
the  protracted  disembarkation,  turned  tiredly 
away  as  the  last  row  of  olive-drab  uniforms 
disappeared  between  the  cheering  crowds  up 
the  old  street. 

Already  the  tide  of  cargo  was  turning  again 
toward  the  ship;  some  mail-bags  were  com- 


Flags  273 

ing  aboard,  and  the  chaplain,  remembering 
Rose's  promised  letter  or  message,  hailed  the 
passing  orderly. 

"Why,  yes,  sir,"  the  sailor  answered.  "I 
couldn't  find  you,  so  I  left  a  telegram  in  your 
cabin,  about  five  minutes  ago." 

Joyously  the  chaplain  hurried  to  get  it. 
He  had  forgotten,  in  the  depression  of  seeing 
the  young  soldiers  go  ashore,  that  his  daughter 
was  so  near.  Perhaps  the  despatch  would 
tell  him  that,  in  a  few  hours,  he  would  see 
Rose  and  tell  her  of  the  old  house,  the  panelled 
parlor,  the  blossoming  orchard  where  robins 
sang.  When  the  war  was  over,  there  need 
be  no  delay  in  hanging  the  portrait  over  the 
fireplace  and  domiciling  the  white  chickens. 

But  first,  perhaps,  they  might  have  a  vaca- 
tion together  in  Paris,  if  Rose  could  get  away. 
There  were  pictures  and  statues  to  see; 
churches  and  tombs  to  visit;  a  present  to 
be  bought.  Rose's  twenty-fourth  birthday 
was  next  week,  and  even  in  war  times  wrist- 
watches  must  be  for  sale  in  Paris.  She  didn't 
care  for  jewelry — but  a  watch  was  different. 

And  if  she  couldn't  get  away  he  must  find 
how  to  get  to  her,  for,  after  all,  that  was  the 


274  Flags 

main  thing.  Outside,  the  executive  officer, 
hurrying  past,  called,  "Good  luck — and  a 
good  time,  padre,"  as  the  chaplain  tore  open 
the  envelope  and  read  the  message. 

Long  afterward — when  he  raised  his  head 
— and  faced  the  future,  the  years  stretched 
grayly  beyond.  There  would  be  no  old  house 
looking  seaward — no  fireplace  with  a  portrait 
above  it.  The  robin  had  flown  with  the  un- 
returning  spring — and  Rose — with  the  bright 
hair — the  deft  fingers  so  quick  to  aid  the  sick 
or  suffering — the  happy  spirit  that  answered 
so  readily  to  laughter  or  tears — crushed  into 
silence. 

The  German  aviators  had  struck  their 
target  under  the  Red  Cross  flag. 

For  every  human  being  there  is  some  key 
that  unlocks  the  gates  of  memory.  It  may 
be  the  vagrant  scent  of  lilies;  a  bar  of  music; 
the  aching  grind  of  car-wheels;  the  intona- 
tion of  a  voice;  the  earliest  call  of  a  bird 
across  the  dawn;  the  sight  of  rain-soaked, 
wind-blown  lilacs;  the  lilt  of  an  old  song; 
the  grim  smell  of  hospital  waiting-rooms — 


Flags  275 

and  behold !  the  gates  swing  back  on  the 
garden  of  memory,  dream-heavy  days  of 
other  years,  and  the  drenching  radiance  of 
the  light  that  never  was. 

For  the  chaplain  it  is  the  sight  of  blue 
smoke  from  the  chimneys  of  small  homes  and 
the  words  of  a  chapter  in  Kings — Solomon's 
prayer  at  the  dedication  of  the  temple — with 
its  lovely,  bell-like  refrain.  In  the  chaplain's 
work  it  recurs  at  intervals  as  part  of  the  lesson 
for  the  day,  and  he  reads  the  stately,  measured 
words  in  a  level,  emotionless  voice. 

Statesmen  may  decide  what  constitutes 
victory  and  reparation;  when  and  where 
flags  may  float  and  what  they  shall  signify 
to  brave  and  honest  men;  but  one  flag  and 
the  soldiers  who  serve  under  it  the  chaplain 
will  never  forgive. 


fe  /« 


A     000718043     3 


